


Rings

by GydroZMaa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Rings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 218,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GydroZMaa/pseuds/GydroZMaa
Summary: Emil Steilsson, prince of Crodinia, is the latest victim of his family’s ancient secret and traditions. However, when he receives an Altorienese pet named “Leon” for his sixteenth birthday, he begins to learn that his life does not have to follow the rules that fate forged for him. This is a story of magic, adventure, courage, ruin, and love.Map of EliathaWill resume updates in May!
Relationships: Denmark/Norway (Hetalia), Hong Kong/Iceland (Hetalia)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 166





	1. His Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Rings (Discont.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591774) by [GydroZMaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GydroZMaa/pseuds/GydroZMaa). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As labeled by the explicit rating, this story will have themes that will probably not be suited for adolescents. To refrain from spoiling parts of the plot, I have chosen not to archive warnings, but there will be sensitive, explicit, and/or graphic content. You have been duly warned.

Summer snows dusted the castle grounds outside where the servants had not swept. With vacant eyes the prince stared down at the visitors coming carriage after carriage into the castle walls, all flying banners of their respective kingdoms. As though in second nature due to his long studies, he effortlessly listed off the recognizable emblems as they came. 

“The Unity of Dotriba,” he first murmured, as the leading flanks from the north part of the unity were the closest neighbors to Crodinia’s southern borders. Their banner boasted a triad of black, blue, and gold, all noble and powerful colors belonging to even more powerful set of kingdoms. 

His voice grew with confidence as if winning his make-believe game of banner trivia. “The Alliance of Thursaunia.” Its alliance was a recent marriage of once-independent kingdoms and the reigning king and queen. The new banner bore a rugged stallion with the gallant wings of an eagle. While not the most intimidating of the kingdoms, Thursaunia was capable of holding its peace against Dotriba, and that, alone, was worthy of respect for its winged horse. 

“The United Kingdom of Tabrini.” A collection of four provinces rule under a single royal family, each of its provinces was overseen by one of four brothers. Equally so was a banner split into four parts, boasting four beasts: a lion, a unicorn, a dragon, and a stag. Its naval forces were as impressive as its historic conquest of neighboring islands, only rivaled to its rich history with the dark arts. Considering how far west their kingdom was, that even one of the ruling brothers was attending the prince’s birthday celebration was considered to be a great honor. 

“Belethren,” he automatically recited for his king’s strong alliance with its current ruler, Tim Maes. He did not doubt Belethren’s king would attend; a short yet meaningful representation was worth it for complimentary food, sociable hospitality, and prospective business interactions. 

With the last of the guests crossing through the main gates and their horses being led to the proper stables, the prince abandoned his lookout from the balcony and mentally made a note of whom to greet and how. He had little recollection of the nobles’ personalities save for the Belethrenic king, and that was only through the short visits he paid every six months or so. Most were comrades from the Sunset War. Once eager princes or young kings in the making, they fought side by side against a common enemy, an enemy that now laid in the pages of ruin and glorified textbooks. 

He wiped his mind of the thoughts. He had not been there those years ago. The kings that arrived before him shared something that no one can take away from them, not that he wanted any part of the experience. They were not here for him. It was more out of obligation and respect that they came to Crodinia today, to relish on the calm after the storm and maintain an old, yet odd camaraderie. His brother even shared this bond, however little he spoke of it. Emil Steilsson was utterly alone on his coming of age day. 

Nevertheless, he needed to be presentable. He labored in front of the mirror and hopelessly tried to fix his untidy white hair. He was a prince of Crodinia and heir to House Steilsson. Charismatic host he was not, but man of the hour he had to be. He had made it clear to his brother-in-law that he did not want such a grandiose celebration for his sixteenth birthday. It was an important milestone, to be sure, however there were going to be many more birthdays to come. Besides, his recognition of guests ranged no further than distant family, his own parents being unable to attend. He wanted nothing more than to have a simple gathering of familiar faces in the castle. Lukas, a few close servants and knights, and, of course, the king would have been enough. As it stood now, however, it was an impossible case.

A lead stone in his stomach, he made himself known to the upper-floored servants, all wishing him a happy birthday and nine blessings. The further down he went, the more apprehensive he felt. The castle was alive but restless from the increasing amount of servants, guests, and noise flooding the halls. He wanted to find his brother. Surely a familiar face would give him some consultation. 

Some questioning of the servants later, he spotted Lukas catching a rare moment of respite from greeting the incoming guests and attendants. It was not hard to distinguish him in a crowd; a dark, regal air exuded off him like strong perfume. His tendency to dress in his patriarchal house’s signature sapphire blue earned him a rightful place among royalty, presentation alone. 

Lukas Bondevik, seeing him, smiled with grace the prince longed to master. “Emil, it’s good to see you.” He arranged his younger brother’s untamable white hair out of habit. Emil had inherited the unruliness somewhere from his father’s side of the family. His mother's hair, in contrast, was a cascade of platinum, and his brother’s fine blonde hair fluffed at the ends like marigolds in tangled currents. 

“Lukas, brother, I—”

“Nervous, are you?” Lukas could tell by the timorous waver in his voice. His younger brother nodded. “Did you remember to pray this morning?” The prince nodded again, though he never enjoyed his visits to the temple. “That's good to hear. I know that it can be intimidating having to meet all these kings at once, but part of becoming an adult means being able to socialize and maintain relations. You have to take responsibility even if it doesn’t always fall in your best interests.” 

Emil wanted to spew contradictions to his responsibilities, but at the end of the day, they were excuses in light of who he was. It would be more convenient to have a small birthday celebration for reaching adulthood, and it would be lighter on the coffers to not spend so lavishly on fine drinks, entertainment, and decorations—especially with the Red Summer right around the bend. However, this event was also an impression. This he knew. “Crodinia can be a cold and harsh land, little brother,” Lukas reminded him, “but it is rich in history and perseverance. Occasions that open our borders to our old allies remind them of such things. And it’s a good celebration of the peace we have.” 

A settling unstable peace though it was, it was peace, nonetheless, Emil thought through heavy eyelids as his brother fingered his hair. His eyes fluttered shut as his brother placed a kiss atop his forehead. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he heard Lukas whisper. “And don’t worry. I didn’t know everything when I turned sixteen. We can take it a little at a time.” He removed his hands from his brother and stepped back. “If it’ll make you comfortable, I can help you greet the guests at the gates and the others in the dining hall.” 

Emil’s heart leapt. It was what he wanted to hear. He could always rely on him. “That would be nice,” he said, hoping to mask the relief of tackling the task on his own.

His brother evenly smiled. “Let’s go then. We don’t want to start dinner without our birthday prince, would we?”

Emil smiled in turn. 

Fortunately, or perhaps not, the remaining guests were not representing their respective crowns, meaning that most if not all royalty was inside the castle. Lukas eased his brother through the greetings and formalities to the point where Emil held his own by the last carriage’s arrival. 

“That appears to be everyone,” one of the stewards said upon examining the guest list. “We should go back inside and inform His Majesty.” 

Lukas agreed. “I’ll bet our man of the evening is starving.” Emil blushed at the realization of being referred to as an adult. Physically, he felt no different, but the formalities were sure to go a long way. “Let’s be off, little brother.” 

They started for the dining hall when Emil stopped. He caught something carried through the summer winds: a loud rickety-sounding set of wheels approaching the gates. “Did we miss someone?” 

His brother hummed in thought and turned to the steward. “Let me see that list?” The steward handed the long scroll of parchment over for him to examine. Dark blue eyes shifted through the guests’ names, a soft murmur following each row until he reached the bottom. 

At last, the mysterious straggler showed itself: a rickety dark shack of a pullcart led by sickly grey mares and a haggardly coachman at the reins. The red paint that chipped away from weathering faded in pitiful compliment to the rusted brass—or were they gold?—buttons that lined the frames. Long ago, the cart must have been something spectacular, belonging to a noble even, however it was clear that time had neither been kind to it nor its passengers. 

But it was not the state of disrepair that rendered Emil speechless; it was the banner. He had only seen them as relics won from the Sunset War, framed displays found in the capital’s museum, and pictures printed in textbooks. Never out in the open. Not here. He had never thought it would show itself now: the banner of Altorien. 

* * *

“We’re gathered here today to celebrate the day my brother-in-law, Emil, becomes a man!” A chorus of congratulations and festive banter rang out throughout the hall when Mathias Køhler began his opening dinner speech. It was normally a job reserved for the man of the hour, Emil respectively, but he had received approval from the king to make the closing statement, instead, when most of guests will be drunk and fat or will have retired early to bed.

“He is, as am I, grateful for the opportunity to gather here the way we can this evening, brothers and sisters with a common interest—” The Crodinian king raised his goblet. “—for peace and spirits and full bellies!” 

Short and to the point, that was the sign to commence the feast. Mathias never was one for drawn out sermons. Sporting wild hair like golden flames, brilliant blue eyes, and a smile to capture hearts, he had natural charisma to pull everyone towards him. He was young, energetic, a king of his people. The hungry and stirring guests were glad for that. They all raised their cups, flasks, and goblets in turn and heartily drank their first of many fills. Emil sipped from his own goblet despite the taste of spirits being overpowering for him.

The occasional guest came over to the hosts’ table and gave the king thanks and his brother-in-law a wishful “Happy Birthday,” though the birthday feast was generally undisturbed. Staff came and went to rotate dishes and refill glasses, but the table the prince sat at was filled with the highest of royalty, all carrying their own sets of honors and stories like chains on mail. It may have been the prince’s birthday, but they were the stars of the show. They laughed and jested about days of glory, embellishing the most exciting parts while arguing about the validity of another’s questionable achievements. The newly announced adult tried his best to listen to parts of them all. 

Across from him was Tim Maes, the Tulip King, most noted for his family’s signature spring-green irises and his upright wheat-colored hair, fashioned like the tulips he was known to breed. Normally stoic, he cracked a short smile at his friend’s retelling of their youth when they snuck away from their books to peddle his castle’s wares. It had been for “economics studies,” he had claimed when he had been caught by his tutors. He did not drink as heavily as some of his fellow companions; however, he was seldom seen without his pipe and lighter, which he happened to bring out to take a few puffs of fairy’s feather, a commonly smoked grass. 

On Mathias’ right was the oldest brother of the ruling family in Tabrini, Allistor Kirkland, and the only Kirkland to attend the prince’s birthday celebration. Each one of his brothers looked near foreign to one another in blood, but Allistor’s fiery parted red hair aside, he had the Kirkland’s emerald eyes and prominently thick eyebrows. While his brothers took to mastering the arcane arts, the Ranger King had brought himself up in armed combat, archery in particular. Though they were not able to call each other childhood friends, Mathias and Allistor shared a bond from their time covering the front and back flanks in the peak of the Sunset War. 

The quiet Teacup King of Thursaunia, Roderich Edelstein, sat to the prince’s left with his queen wife, Elizabeta Héderváry, the heiress to House Héderváry of the Gássík Highlands, a once independent province of Thursaunia. Unlike his outspoken wife, Roderich kept to himself, nibbling on smoked mackerel and butter rolls in a dainty manner. He had the pride to ask for tea over heavy spirits, which was served in porcelain. Judging from the winged horse crest painted on his cup, it appeared the appropriately named Teacup King had brought his own set of drinkware to the party. Contempt was what the prince felt from the Thursaunian king; his thin dark eyebrows arched in a way that painted his face in petty expression. How his dark brown hair swept sideways gave a hint of style, yet his stiff mannerisms waned an electrical air that kept him unapproachable. He clearly did not want to be here. But the way his wife jumped into conversations with such ease and confidence made the prince believe he was here for her. Elizabeta was bursting with words, and given how unsociable her husband was, she quite liked the company of people within her standing. The prince supposed that had some merit to its own right. 

Of the people Elizabeta spoke with, one group (seated thankfully on the same side and farthest from the prince) was the Dotriban monarchs. The three kingdoms governed themselves separately from one another, but unlike those from the outside, they enjoyed a permit of open borders within. Coupled with vowing to aid one of their kingdoms in times of hardship and need, at some point in time, the three kingdoms had merged into a single union of independent yet collaborating governments. 

The three kings, in turn, were just as unique on their own. The farthest kingdom of the three was ruled by Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the Golden King of Ésbel. Hailing from the south, his skin and short tousled hair were dark, with olive-green eyes that mirrored the fertile lands from which he ruled. He was the most lax of the three and the wealthiest in agriculture and naval voyaging. He spoke to everyone with free and equal vigor, including all manners of royalty, even managing to keep a conversation going with Emil’s reserved brother. 

The western kingdom belonged to Francis Bonnefoy, the Iris King of Palleci. Perhaps the most fanciful of the three, he was also known as a lover for all things beautiful. His castle was said to sit on a lovely estate of flower beds and clear waters with creatures of all exotic natures brought in from around the world. Having never been to the western edge of Dotriba before, the prince hoped to someday see the castle for himself. 

Last was the Crimson King, Gilbert Beilschmidt of Bävmek, who had inherited his throne after the passing of his grandfather before the Sunset War. Few among the kings could disagree that he had the blood of The Valiant, itself. His title had been earned during his reign on the battlefield, possessing keen wit for warmongering strategy and a thirst for blood to match it. His eyes, in contrast to his near-white silver hair, glowed sanguine, a feature that unnerved many a soul who met him, the prince included. To make things all the more irksome, he spoke the loudest—louder than Mathias if possible. It was clear he had had more than his fair fill of alcohol, yet the prince had a feeling his brash arrogance was not uncommon in his typical nature. 

“And I shot him dead between the eyes in a single strike!” Gilbert pronounced with his chest sticking outward like a proud rooster. He turned to Elizabeta with a smirk. “Too bad you’ve got your hands tied with that prissy loser of yours. Isn’t it unawesome to be stuck with someone who can’t even wield a steak knife?” 

“Ignore him, dear,” Roderich creased his lips into a thin frown, which betrayed his own words. He was tired of suffering the ends of the Dotriban’s jabs both politically and verbally. 

Elizabeta rose from her seat. The kings look on with bemused expressions, her husband less so. “Roderich doesn’t need to stand up to someone like you, Beilschmidt, because he’s got me. I’m just as capable as anymore here, and I can prove it to you tomorrow.” 

Allistor laughed, an eyebrow arched. “Ye talkin’ about the morning hunt? ‘Cuz I wouldn’t mind seeing a queen down a stag on her own.” 

Gilbert wrinkled his nose befit of smelling old stockings. “Don’t get your hopes up, Ranger, because I’m going to be the one who gets the first kill.” 

Mathias joined in the laughter. Beside him, Lukas took a bit of baked salmon and coal cake. “I’ll bet on that! Fifty moons to the queen if anyone’s willing to match!”

“Fifty to myself!” Gilbert predictably offered. 

At the sound of money being flaunted, Tim perked his ears up. He was not one for socializing, yet when it came to money, his knowledge of networking and analytics went a long way. For now, he kept his mouth shut and judged the rest of his tablemates with sharp eyes and ears. 

“Hold on,” a less excitable voice cut through the rising voices. It was Francis, curling a lock of his shoulder-length blonde hair. “I think we’re forgetting someone very important.” He turned to the prince who had been silent since sitting down at the table. “Emil, would you like to join them in the hunt?” 

The prince never thought the Iris King, of all people, would be considerate enough to think of including him. Still, Emil had never been one for the sport; his skills in horseback riding did not range further than cantering, and he had no experience in tracking. He would be a liability if he went with them. “That’s very kind of you to offer, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid hunting is not my kind of sport.” 

The Iris King raised his brow. “It isn’t for me, either,” he smiled empathically. “Hunting for the ‘fun’ of it is a savage lifestyle. I think I’ll stick to my gardens and birds. Perhaps you would prefer to do the same with me tomorrow?”

The prince considered the offer, since he was not close to any of the kings other than his own Mathias. A change of pace could be refreshing. It also piqued the prince’s interest knowing Francis was the most cultured of the Dotriban kings. That was when Elizabeta jumped in. “You can enjoy your pretty things on your own, Frog. Just because he’s an adult doesn’t mean he’s less prone to your sticky words.” 

The prince stared, confused. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Emil,” Lukas assured him with a smile. “It’s a game they’re playing. You’ll learn it in time.” 

It did not sound like a very fun game, the prince decided, now wondering if Francis had the best intentions. He may have been sheltered all his life, but he was by no means naïve—at least to his knowledge. Ambiguity, he learned, was always something of a polite approach to such invitations. “If I find the time after admiring my gifts by morning, Your Majesty, I’ll be glad to show you plenty of beautiful things.” 

Francis raised his glass in turn. “I look forward to seeing them on your time.” 

“Eliza,” Roderich adjusted his collar and spoke with a stuffy voice that matched his equally fitting attire, “you’re really not thinking of hunting with this lot in the morning, are you?” 

“Why not?” Gilbert’s voice cut the air like knife. “Afraid she’ll sprain her ankle like you do while dancing, aristocrat?” 

Extending possibility, Roderich’s eyebrows managed to fall lower than before, so low that they practically burrowed into his eyelids. “I’m well aware she can handle herself. What I’m concerned about is…” His snide tone faded into hesitance. He glanced warily to his wife, and they shared a look that seemingly telegraphed a silent conversation between one another. “No, never mind,” he said after the exchange. “You just watch out for that loon while you’re out there.” Elizabeta grinned from his approval, leaving Gilbert steaming like a kettle in the background. 

His compatriots yanked at his arms and forced him down into his seat. “Try the smoked salmon, Gilbert. It’s delicious.”

“And the butter cakes. Lukas said he helped make them.”

The rest of the evening continued as such: one person brought up a topic, the rest discussed in typical fashion. Emil, however, remained quiet throughout most of it, rarely thinking, sometimes listening. Food passed into his mouth, yet though he chewed, he did not taste. The sounds surrounding him told him he was special, today most of all, yet he felt nothing. Twisting the metal ring on his finger, he wanted to shy away from the clamor. Nothing but light and noise. It had been but seven minutes. 

Then, his brother’s voice whispered into his ear. “Would you like to step out with me, Emil?” 

He nodded, and the two rose in unison and excuse themselves to the garden branching from the kitchen. A few guests wandered through the grassy beds and paved stone. Being that Crodinia’s climate were colder than most, heating stones encased in fireproof containers surrounded the nearby flowers and foliage, keeping them from catching summer frosts. The unique heating method was a practice reserved only for the northern kingdom, making it a fascinating attraction for appreciating travelers. One such admirer—Belethrenic judging from the accentuated vowels—jotted notes down in a book while studying a cluster of native frost lilies. A Thursaunian couple observed sickle bell vines, the wife insisting they must find a way to bring some home to their own garden. The little conversations the guests had among themselves put Emil at ease, having nothing to do with talks of politics or old wars. He and his brother sat down by Little Lake, an artificially enlarged pond named for its ability to hold small canoes and carry bridges atop its expansive surface. Winter willows swayed in the early summer breeze, their silvery blue leaves reflecting in the setting sun like beads on silk. 

“Now then,” Lukas began, “what’s ailing you on your special day, dear Emil?” 

Most things Emil would say would be seen as excuses in the eyes of a better man. He was sixteen on this day, and he should have had no complaints to bar him from being mature. Yet they lingered like burrs on his tunic and refused to fall away when he tried to shake them off. They were there, and hiding them from his brother was the last thing the prince wanted. He was always able to rely on his brother for sound advice. Besides, was it not mature to admit one’s own concerns?

“I’m afraid I can’t do this, Lukas. The adults, the kings, they’re all so different from me. Or rather, I’m different from them.” 

“Everyone’s different, Emil,” Lukas pointed out. 

“I know,” he sighed, adjusting his ring, “but it’s in such a way that I’m not confident. You’ve seen the way Mathias carries himself. He means what he says and does it. I see it in the others, too. They know how to talk, and they share something I don’t have—or is it the something I do have?” It was not long before he realized his hands were clenched together; whether in frustration or in helpless, he could not distinguish between the two. “You’re able to talk with them so well, and yet I…” 

He looked to Lukas for confirmation, but his brother did not grant him the privilege. “I don’t know why they’re here, Lukas. They’re not here for me. I wanted…” Again he sighed. “I wanted it to be only us, as a family. No flashy music, no lavish banquets or gifts, none of that.”

He felt a pull on his head, and his brother brought him to his chest. “I’m sorry we had to go and make you feel this way on your birthday, Emil,” Lukas apologized with a voice soft as velvet. “Any other year, it would have been different, but this is a particularly special birthday of yours, and I’m sure Mathias wasn’t the only one who saw this as an opportunity to invite the other kings here.” 

“But why?” 

“Because it is a time to remember the peace we have with our neighbors. It was not always as such a few years ago, and it's imperative that we maintain our relations in any way we can. One day, you will understand, if not now.” 

If not now, Emil bitterly echoed in his head. He did understand; they needed to build relationships, yes, but what point was there if he felt alienated from them? He could never measure up to them. His body was physically weak, he naturally shied away from people, and he was overall younger than any of them. It was impossible to catch up no matter how hard he tried, so what was the point of showing them anything? He wanted to say as much to his brother, though none of it would make a difference. His brother could only do so much as husband to Crodinia’s king, and there was nothing that could be said and done about his physical strength or age. 

Sensing troubled thoughts from his brother, Lukas looked into his eyes. “You feel inadequate,” he stated bluntly but truthfully. 

“Because I always _will_ be in light of them,” Emil hopelessly frowned. He cursed his meekness. The cracks along his shell of maturity were beginning to show. The one thing he could be thankful for was that he was not back at the dining hall with the others. 

His brother petted his hair. “Emil,” he spoke his name as sweet as honey, “did you already forget about your powers?”

He shook his head. “How _could_ I?” he said. “But in times like these, what use is my gift, if not my blood?”

“Magical potency is desirable among suitors,” his brother explained. He took a moment to fix Emil’s hair again. “Those with magical blood are more likely to pass it down. It is a quick but surefire demonstration of pedigree.” He added, “And because Mathias has no siblings to call his own, the Crodinian throne may pass on to your heir one day.” 

To his heir, not to him. Emil fell silent. Lukas and Mathias had announced their engagement the day they came back from the Sunset War. There had been much protest at first, but Mathias’ late father had no immediate siblings or relatives; Vitus Køhler had pronounced his son the next in line upon his passing. As the young king would have it, he had aimed to take Lukas for his spouse no matter what laws were thrown at him. So it had been done. A wedding had been held, and a crowning ceremony had taken place for the two of them, the first in an ancient line of tradition. Mathias had become the Sun King, and Lukas, being a man, had been given title as the Shadow. 

Enraptured in their new relationship, Emil had never given much thought as to what was supposed to happen after Mathias’ time. Given who he was, he had thought there would be someone else, but, alas, it should have made sense that there would not be. In a way, that knowledge weighing atop his progression into adulthood held fast to his heart. 

Lukas, seeming to notice this, buried his lips into his brother’s hair and kissed him. “You don’t have to think about that right now, Emil. I have a feeling Mathias is going to live a long and stupidly reckless life far before you find someone suitable.” 

Emil wore a soft smile to that, picturing an aged Mathias sailing out to the sea for a fishing trip or wrestling with the training knights in the courtyards. His brother smiled in turn, suggesting that they return to their guests before someone missed them. On the way back, he quizzed his brother on trivia of their neighboring kingdoms, things like economics, etiquette, and customs. Of the kingdoms, Emil noticed his brother was leaving one out, one that he had never thought would never show up to a place like Crodinia.

“Altorien…” The name of the fallen empire was a ghost burying its way into history books. A once vast and growing empire in the east, it had been seized by the allying kingdoms during the Sunset War. The west had steel and magic. Altorien had gunpowder and fel’n. In the heat of the war, it had taken every effort of Crodinia, Dotriba, Tabrini, and Belethren to force their way to the heart of the red empire. It was told that Tabrini’s forces weakened the front lines enough for the bolder Crodinians and Dotribans to break into the capital. The emperor and his final guards had been defeated, his bloodline hunted and destroyed, rations and resources looted and seized, and the provinces of the Altorien ripped and gutted like vultures to flesh. The war was over. Altorien was no more than settlements for the conquerors that divided its borders and people. And that was what bothered Emil the most. 

“Why are they here?” he whispered as if trying to keep a secret. He was not sure any of the other guests in the castle knew the Altorienese arrived, save for the steward and guards at the front gate. Everyone had been inside when the late guests rode up, and no one had mentioned anything about them being here. Lukas had not said anything about the matter, but it was high time Emil got answers. “Brother, what will the others say if they found out Altorienese were still around?” 

“Peace, Emil,” his brother assured him. “Altorien may be an empire no longer, but like the others invited today, they are here to celebrate a time free of war. Of course, it may be wise to not mention them coming. They could make a scene; the Dotribans are being particularly sensitive.” 

“Who invited them?” Emil had not been in charge of the guest roster. That had been left up to…

“I did,” his brother told him, plain and simple. 

“But why?”

“Because they deserve a fair chance at representing their fallen empire. But since they haven’t announced their arrival, that tells you how they choose to present themselves.” 

Emil could not imagine that was all; it was too unusual for the Altorienese to come here on his birthday, of all things. They could have come during the Red Summer or the Autumn Tourney. Instead, they showed up here and now? He wanted to ask his brother more of them, but before he could do so, they fell back into the dining hall, where a tipsy Mathias greeted them with a raised goblet. 

“The birthday man’s here!” He swung his arm over to the front. “Come on! We’re gonna sing for you!”

Any song without the king was a good song. Rude though it may have been to say aloud, the king could not sing for a tin star's worth. But Emil digressed. He knew his brother’s husband meant well, and he went to him in preparation for a collective celebration song. 

Mathias lead the count off with Antonio and Allistor following along. They sang the common birthday verse. As soon as the other guests heard the kings’ table explode in song, the rest joined along. The dining hall filled with a chorus of “Happy birthday” fit for a king. Emil could not be more humbled and exposed in that moment. 

After the song finished, cake was brought out, Emil’s favorite: white with anise extract and marzipan frosting. He recalled requesting a plain white cake, nothing too out of the ordinary, but the baker had said white cakes were reserved for weddings. Instead, the cake before him was a light shade of lilac with candied bright blue frost lilies, almost complimenting Emil’s eyes. Elizabeta said as much. 

“It’s a lovely color, isn’t it, Roddy?” she beamed as she watched the prince cut into the first slice. “It very much suits Emil’s colors—his eyes most of all. But I think your eyes are a slight more violet than Emil’s here.” 

“If you say so, Eliza,” her husband mused. 

After Emil took his cut of cake, the rest was distributed by the servants to the guests. He was given the privilege of the first bite and was delighted to find that the flavor was not too sweet or overpowered with anise, much to his liking. The rest could be said for everyone; Gilbert found the cake somehow too sweet; the Teacup King thought the cake not sweet enough. Most, fortunately, found it enjoyable. 

Not long after, the time to open presents came. A mountain of gifts Emil had tried not to look at sat waiting at the corner of the dining hall. He had never been one to openly express his gratitude; most of them were meaningless to him or possessed no sentimental value from its givers, but the prince’s faults laid in his inability to see the value in his gifts. He did not know how to display false gratitude like his brother or get excitable like his king. He could only give so many silent thanks to Allistor who came to him with his first gift in person. As it so happened, it was not sitting in the pile of wrapping paper and cloth bundles; rather, the Ranger King had it in his pocket the entire time. 

“This,” he said, holding out a small pouch constructed of dark green velvet, “is a trackle light. I use one to go hunting with in the dark. It has a way of pointin’ out things ye wouldn’t notice.” He tossed it to the prince, who discovered it to be pleasantly light. “Figure yer the practical modest type. It needs some getting around it, but with a little work, you’ll know how to use it.” 

“Thank you, Allistor,” Emil used his first name, since the Ranger King never had been one for formalities. His cheeks flushed at knowing someone like him could see that he enjoyed practical things; having more clothes and broaches than he can count, something as small and simple as a light might be useful for dark places. He found a small palm-sized ball with a smooth glassy finish within the pouch. Not wanting to make a scene, he tucked it back into the velvet wrapping and proceeds on with the other presents, making a mental note to try out his new light tonight before bed. 

Tim went next, giving the prince a collection of bookmarks crafted and pressed with flowers from all throughout his kingdom. The prince took a liking to them, as he imagined with the multitude of books and spells he wanted to study, having several bookmarks would prove handy. He thanked Mathias’ good friend, and the next guests approached him. 

Roderich and Elizabeta—Elizabeta more willingly than Roderich—gifted him a blackened leather satchel with lovely trimming and embossed flowers. It was simple and practical, just like the Ranger King’s gift, lightweight and beautiful. “It’s a hunting satchel,” Elizabeta told him. “Men receive or make one when they become of age.” She added with a tinge of pride in her voice, “I also got one when I turned sixteen. I keep mine with me all the time. I hope you find some use for yours.”

Gilbert spat in the background. “It looks like the one you gave Roderich.” 

Elizabeta’s usually deep emerald eyes sparked with a bright green flame that turned nearly yellow. “You shut your mouth and wait your turn, Gilbert. And yes, Roderich has one, but this one is for Emil. What does it matter to you?” 

“It’s a very lovely gift, Your Majesties,” the prince quickly said with a forced smile. He inched closer to the Thursaunian couple in hopes they turned their attention away from the Dotriban king. He prayed Gilbert did not have anything overtly fanciful to give him. Even a block of cheese would suffice. His uncouth company was not welcome in the Crodinian halls, and the sooner he left, the better. 

As it turned out, the Dotribans presented the prince a single gift instead of three individual ones. It was a cloak with threads woven from each kingdom that shines of deep purples in the shadow. If one held it in the light, it glimmered with reds, blues, and tinges of gold. Completing the overall silken sheen was a finish of white fur trimming, possibly snow ox skin from its thick but fluffy hairs. Being that it was from Dotriba, the prince did not expect it to bear any magical properties, but it was a lovely gift all the same, even coming from Gilbert’s contribution. 

“Violet shades seems to be your color, Prince Emil,” Francis gestured at his other gifts, most of which had hues of blues and purples. “I selected the colors, Gilbert chose the design, and Antonio had his tailors provide the needlework to create this cloak. I took the liberty of adding the fur trimming on the collar. Crodinia gets cold, and if you’re going to keep warm, you should do so with style.”

The prince smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesties. It’s wonderful.” He folded it neatly into a bundle and passed it to a servant to sort away for moving. He prepared for the next gift when the Crimson King stepped up to him. 

“Wait, you think that’s all I’m going to give you on your coming of age day?” He shoved a rectangular package in the prince’s face, so close that it might have touched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got an extra present. Think of me when you use it.” 

The prince stuttered a moment before taking the present and tearing away at the paper. It appeared to be a plain hardcover book. It certainly was not a tome, nor was it a novel. Upon leafing through the pages, the prince realized that the pages were utterly blank. 

“It’s a journal,” the king smirked. “For recording your awesome memories and the not so awesome ones. All are equally important for growing, so use it well.”

“Th-That’s very kind of you, Your Majesty.” The prince could not help but smile. It seemed so innocent coming from someone who put himself up on such a pedestal. To imagine him jotting down every single detail of his life sounded like something he did in his spare time. The narcissism of it all was more amusing than it was irritable. 

The kings finished, the rest of the gifts were passed over and opened. Books, accessories, snacks, small weapons, potions, and trinkets shifted through the prince’s memory in a blur. He had gotten similar gifts in the past, and while he could always use a new cloak or a new tunic for his growing body, new outfits were greeted with staler excitement in each passing year. Exhausted from forcing enthusiasm, he thanked everyone for their generosity and for coming tonight, closing off the last of his official public presentations. The deed done, the guests were free to wander through the castle, choosing to dine on late snacks, socialize, explore the castle grounds at night, or retire to bed. The prince chose to retire. 

The bathhouse being located on the first floor in the private east wing, the prince had a decent way to go and a pleasant walk to ponder his thoughts. He got to the main junction of hallways built in the castle before he heard a familiar voice. 

“Ice!” It was Mathias. He somehow slipped away from the guests just to catch up with him. “Hey, Ice—ah. Shouldn’t call you that anymore.” Correcting himself of Emil’s childhood nickname, he cleared his throat, failing to hide a large smile on his face. His bright blue eyes beaming as always, he handed him something wrapped in Crodinian velvet, a deep red unlike most of the blue and violets Emil had been seeing all evening. This was a gift only Mathias could give. “Here. Happy birthday, Emil.” 

Emil silently took it and undid the ribbon around it. Judging by the smell, he knew it had to be more leather, but something more had to be contained within it. When he finished unraveling the cloth, he found a small knife tucked away in a leather sheath with an opal handle and fine engravings of Crodinian words. _JECKT, RUUM, RAED, NOHD._

“Azielan steel,” said Mathias, scratching the back of his head in rare modesty. “Only finer steel’d be forged for kings, but since yer a prince, I made sure it was commissioned just right. I thought ya deserved something for yerself, even if it’s no sword. Since yer a man, Lukas an’ I both agreed you were responsible enough to have something like this.” 

Some years ago, Emil would have jumped forward and thrown himself into Mathias’ arms, but he was his brother’s husband and his king now. On top of being an adult, he needed to compose himself, and it took every fiber of him to speak with an even voice. 

“Thank you, Mathias. From the bottom of my heart.” His eyes remained fixated on the knife so he did not lose himself. A weighted hand fell on his head and tangled the hair that his brother had spent so much time trying to fix. 

“Ha!” the king laughed. “Don’t mention it. So you like it?”

“I love it,” he smiled. “I’ll be careful when using it.” He did not need to look inside the contents to know Azielan steel was forged with magic as well as high quality alloys. No ordinary knife would be constructed so specifically. 

Mathias let out a deep breath, as if in relief. “Whew, I’m glad. I would’ve given it to you out there, but I didn’t want to upstage any of the others.” 

Emil laughed alongside him. Mathias could give him a quill pen and it would overshadow any gift of the evening. 

“Right then,” the king let out a yawn and stretched his arms. “I’m going to rejoin the others for a bit before shuteye. Ya sure you’re not coming with us to hunt tomorrow? You might be able to use that knife out there.” 

“It’s a nice thought, but I’m sure,” Emil was firm. He had no interest in socializing with the others tonight or in the morning. He thought he would enjoy candied peaches and caramelized turtlecorns with his new novel about a mage knight’s adventures in the morrow. And come post-lunchtime, he would practice his new tomes. Then, he would go into town buy a nice piece of glassbark to practice whittling with his new knife. He had read Azielan steel never dulled if forged with the right fires, and coming from Mathias, he had a feeling his knife was the genuine article. When dusk approached, he would share his day’s events with his brother and some of the more amicable knights, after which he would retire for the evening and begin the day anew. It would be perfect. 

“Alright, then, Emil,” Mathias returned a smile to him. “I’ll see ya later. Maybe we’ll have bear or deer for dinner.” 

“I prefer boar,” he chuckled, already imaging the taste of hot juices dripping from a fatty piece of its belly. Regardless of whoever killed the beast, he hoped it would be a boar. 

* * *

Night fell over the castle. When the music died down and the guests tired of conversation and feasting, a lulling hush drifted into the ears of weary and heavy sleepers. Emil was among them (though he had always been more on the lighter side), having fallen asleep to the glass rainbow lamp his distant uncle had crafted for him, its soft blues, pinks, greens, and yellows dancing across his walls and ceiling. He recalled a dream of dancing lights flying from his fingertips and showing off to the scholars when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Frustrated, he gave the hand a shove to find it gently pushing back against him. His dream faded into blackness, then to the pastel colors of his night lamp. 

“Emil…” came a whisper. At first, the prince thought it was a voice in a dream, but his eyes threw themselves awake and his heart pounded. Only a handful of people had the key to his room: Mathias, who did not whisper so softly; the heads of the night patrols who only entered in dire emergencies, of which this did not appear to be; and his own brother. The latter making the most sense, he turned to find Lukas’ dark shape standing over him, a soft blue light hovering at his side. An illumination spell. 

“Brother?” His voice was heavy, his chest weighed by invisible lead. He struggled to clear his blurred vision and make out his brother’s face. It must have been nearing midnight. The castle was as silent as a grave. The guests had gone to bed, and the musicians had rested their tired fingers and voices for the following day. What business, then, did his brother have for waking him up so late into the night? 

“Emil,” he could hear his brother say barely above a whisper, “come with me. There is still time before midnight. It is time for me to give you my gift.” 

Immediately he threw off his covers and sat himself upright with a gleam in his eyes. How could he have forgotten? The entire day had gone by, and through all of the gifts he had received that evening, Lukas had never given him anything personally. Even though they could not attend, his very own mother and father had sent him a fabulous handmade tunic and an atlas on the newly charted seas beyond the Bizzarding Isles. Surely on his coming of age day, Lukas’ gift would be something special and personable. He had always known what to give him from the earliest birthday he could remember: a chearhawk feather, a crystal puffin, a warding charm, silque wool gloves, a coin purse with an ironbound spell cast on it, a spellbook on the masteries of ice anima. All were a few of the gifts the prince could remember on the top of his head. And this, he had no doubt, was going to be the gift he would remember for a lifetime. 

It was difficult to see in the darkness, but aided by the glow from Lukas’ illumination spell and the lamp lighting the chamber walls, the prince saw that his brother was not smiling. “Are you ready for your gift, Emil?” His tone, in contrast, was that of reassurance and sincerity, so the prince was not afraid, however, he detected something off about his expression. He wondered if this was a test of maturity, and as mature men went, a stone façade was accepted more than one of naïve concern. 

“I’m ready,” he said. 

Now his brother was smiling for certain. “Put something warm on. I’m afraid we’ll have to take a short trip to collect your gift.”

The prince did as he was told, pulling over a thick woolen tunic, as Crodinian nights were cold even in the summertime. He threw on one of the many cloaks he had been gifted for good measure, checked his ring, pocketed Allistor’s trackle light, and went to his brother’s side. Never did he think of fixing his hair. Perhaps he was still tired. “Where are we going, brother?” he now asked. 

Lukas was already halfway out of the door before he spoke. “We are going to the dungeons.”

A lump seized in the prince’s throat. The dungeons! And at this hour, who knew what sorts of ill spirits and dark forces might have made their way into the black crevices? Suddenly, he wondered if he should bring a warding charm along. His practice in lumen magics was poor, and it had been a long time since he had studied any barrier spells—not that they would repel spiritual entities. 

“You’re not afraid, are you?” his brother interrupted his thoughts. 

“No.”

His brother smiled understandingly. “You don’t have to say it, but for this one night, you can be brave, can’t you?” 

The prince was a poor liar, but he held himself together for the sake of his brother’s kindness. A little while longer, and he would be back in his room with his colorful lights, warm fur covers, sleeping oils, and a new gift. So, he nodded. 

Lukas remained smiling. “Good.” He led the way with his blue illumination spell. It was a color that most suited him, the prince thought; sullen and hypnotic, yet calming and regal. He believed as long as the light remained glowing, he would never get lost. 

The dungeons were built separately from the main castle two buildings over. Through the king’s hall they went and down the stairs to the far west. When they went outside, there were guards stationed outside, stoic yet failing to mask a hint of boredom from standing in the cold night. They were appropriately dressed, but the biting winds and flurries made for poor company during the dark shift. 

At last, they came to the entrance of the dungeon, a rather ordinary opening only distinguished by heavy iron bars and four guards instead of the usual two. Recognizing the face of The Shadow, they let the pair pass into through the raised iron bars and descend into the depths below. 

It was the first time the prince had officially been down in the dungeon. He had heard numerous stories from nursemaids and tutors who had threatened to send him below if he ever misbehaved or fell behind in his studies. Fortunately that had never been the case, though the stories remained etched in his mind. The mazes of stone were said to contain madness and spirits that haunted the walls. Some had been tried for petty crimes; others, far more sinister deeds that had condemned them to rot in this hellish place. Supposedly, sages from long ago had cast spells that prevented those who died here to properly move on to the afterlife; thus spirits wandered aimlessly in the dungeons without purpose yet plagued with eternal longing and suffering. Whenever the prince would have to go near the dungeons, he had made every effort possible to avoid this place and opt to take a detour. Now that he was older, he supposed it should not have been too terrible, seeing as how the guards at the front seemed relatively passive about their shifts, but the impending threat of what might be lying in wait was what frightened the prince most of all. 

He soon found that his hands were shaking despite being cloaked in typical winter clothing and began twisting his ring to distract himself of his jittering. He wanted to cling to his brother’s side and hide his face in his cloak. No gift was worth this kind of terror, was it? His mentor had told him the greater the struggle, the more fulfilling the reward. If his brother of all people was willing to take him to such a dreadful place, then surely whatever laid waiting at the end would be greater than any gift he had ever received. 

Yes, he thought. He could be brave for this. _The Valiant give me courage and The Venturous give me wonder to hide my fears._

It was easier said than done. The stray winds from above snaked their way into the passages and howled in a ghastly echo. The loose chains bolted to stone jangled as hollow bells in empty keys. Lukas’ light, while always welcoming in color, cast dancing shadows that looked like gangly demons. Now more than ever, the prince wished he had invested more studying time in warding spells. With every passing step and each turned corner, the prince’s feet felt weaker and his anxiety at near peak. To cope with his fears, he thought of what sort of wonderful thing his gift would be on his coming of age day. Perhaps it was a magical creature or a powerful weapon that needed to be contained far from the common people. That would be exciting, he thought in childlike imagination. His head conjured designs of swords and staves, unicorns and griffins. A unicorn would make a delightful steed if not for their stubborn longing for freedom, and perhaps freedom was better than the cold chill of the north. Maybe something non-sentient like a sturdy staff would be better in the hands of a mage prince.  
  
Ahead, Lukas glided through the corridors like a dark ghost. He scarcely made a sound when he moved, save for the occasional rustle of his cape or a turn to see if his brother was following behind. “Take care not to lose me,” he advised. “If you miss a corner, you might never find me again.” Lukas was jesting, of course. He had plenty of ways to navigate the dungeons and even more to locate his dear brother should he ever part from him. And if need be, he would not hesitate to obliterate the walls to the ground if it meant seeing his face again. However, Emil did not know this and made a greater effort to stick to his brother’s heels as best he could. Lukas thought it charming that he would be so frightened. The world held far worse than anything that could ever haunt these grounds. 

They eventually reached the end of one of many corridors. A small light had given it away beforehand, but even so, the prince found it so out of place here. Why was his gift even so deep into the dungeon? “Here we are,” Lukas said as he softened the intensity of his light spell. There was a hooded man sitting just in the shadows of the dim lights. The prince had not seen him at first, and when he started to stand up, the motion nearly frightened him to death. He murmured something low to the prince’s brother, revealing a long gray trail of untrimmed beard hanging from his lips and chin. Had he not looked so filthy—and odorous at that—he could have passed up for an elderly sage with the right posture and upkeep. 

Lukas and the man broke conversation, to which the prince’s brother gestured to him. “Come here, Emil,” he said. The prince went over to him and wrinkled his nose at a passing smell in the stagnant air. It must have been partially due to the hooded man, as his clothes were more like oily rags worn with age and neglect. But there seemed to be another source. He noticed a door in the shadows. This, the hooded figure went to and opened with a low metallic creak. A musty stench poured out like water, and the prince had to refrain from audibly gagging in the man’s presence. When the prince looked to the opened door, all he could see was black nothingness. 

“You may pick one,” his brother’s voice cut the silence. “Only one, Emil.”

“One what?” the prince wearily asked. The smell was becoming too much. The sourness stung his nose like rotten citrus. Whatever it was, it was certainly no mighty staff. (Perchance a staff of smelling, but his brother would certainly not play such a cruel joke on this day.)

“One gift,” Lukas answered him with calm demeanor, yet his words suggested urgency. “I hate to rush you, but we only have so long before the day is up. Try to pick one while it’s still your birthday.” 

His lungs seizing and his nerves ringing in his ears, the prince hesitated to step through the door. No doubt it was a cell, but what did it contain? He wanted to light a spell, but he forgot the rites in that instance. Instead, his fingers went to his pocket where he remembered placing something inside. His trackle light. He thanked Allistor in silence and wrapped a fist around it. With the promise of light at hand, he felt braver and stepped into the cell. 

Not a moment through the archway, his foot made contact with something soft. Startled, he stepped back and gasped, regrettably inhaling a fresh mouthful of the putrid aroma. He choked and hurriedly brought his cloak to his mouth. The dungeons harnessed no spells of warmth, thus it was cold. However, the sensation he felt from striking the object with his foot did not play tricks on him. It was _warm_. 

It was _alive_. 

He squinted his eyes at first, hoping to adjust to the darkness. When that failed him, he rolled his trackle light in his hand for comfort when it clumsily slipped out of his palm. He nearly cried out until the small orb pulsed with a soft gray light and flew up in the space in front of him. Practical, truly. But now that he could see, he suddenly wished it was still dark. 

Emerging from the shadows, the faces of gaunt, terror-stricken boys littered the cell walls and floors. Their dark hair drooped the same way the man’s did outside from weeks, maybe months, of neglect. Their sickly pale skin was caked with dirt and wounds festering from a definite lack of sunlight and nutrition. But what disturbed the prince most of all was the vacancy in their eyes. Dull, dark, empty, lifeless orbs stood in place where their eye sockets were. These were boys who had been broken and dispirited for a good amount of time. Time had not been good to them. In that instant, it made sense. A wave a nausea washed through the prince’s body from head to toe. His feet stood rigged in place, his voice numb. They were Altorienese. 

This…was his gift? 

No. Only one, his brother had told him. No matter what they were, he was told to pick one. But he had no idea how to choose. For what purpose was this gift supposed to serve? Was he looking for someone submissive? Attractive? Athletic? He shifted his eyes and scanned their faces. He wanted to be out of here as soon as possible, but if this was really what his brother was going to give to him, his decision should cater some thought. A few shied away from his light, he noticed. Others stared ahead like blind ghosts. If they were Altorienese, they must have been victims of the war. It would not be an understatement to say they were ghosts in the prince’s midst. 

“Hurry, would you, Emil?” his brother said in the same passive interest. “I don’t want their scent to stick to your clothes.” 

He pressed his lips together and continued his search. If time was of the essence, then he could only pick by physical traits. But even that proved to be difficult. Altorienese were known to all have dark hair and papery skin. Most of them looked alike, and in a sense, their shared appearance had strengthened a sense of likeliness. It would not help the prince choose his gift from the lot, however. 

He was browsing along a wall of the cell when he thought something caught his eye. A flash of gold. Curious if one of them was wearing something beyond their rootskin rags, the prince looked at their garments for jewelry. He found none, but again, something golden sparkled against his trackle light. 

It was then that he saw him: pale skin like the rest and dark brown hair that fell just beyond his jawline, but eyes like gold if only for an instance. When the prince looked to him again, the boy lowered his gaze and hid his irises from his sight. Though fleeting, a certain Dotriban king might have called them exotic. There was nothing else defining about the rest, he thought. And he wanted to be done with this godsforsaken place. 

“Emil, did you choose yet?” his brother pressed one more time. 

“I-I think so,” he spoke, surprised at the rattle in his voice. He must have been shaking more than he had thought. He bundled his cloak close to his arms and held his hand towards the boy with the golden eyes. He suspected if he was going to choose this boy, himself, he would also have to carry him out. The entire time as the prince held fast to the boy’s arm and pulled him to his feet, he dared not reveal his eyes again. However, he made no efforts to resist being led out, so there was a start. “This one,” the prince said as the trackle light that once floated around him retreated into his pocket. 

Lukas hummed in thought and did a quick examination of his gift. It might have been that he trusted his brother’s judgement, as he did not keep his eyes on the boy for too long before speaking to the hooded man. “They don’t speak Crodinian, correct?” 

“No, Your Majesty.” It was the first time the prince heard him speak, and he did so in broken Crodinian. 

“Translate this for me then,” Lukas said and lowered his head to the boy. “From this moment until the day you die, you are my brother’s property. You are to be his shield. His scapegoat. His dog. If my brother ever receives so much as a scratch from you, I will make you rue the day you were born. The Altorienese are not the only ones with famous torture methods, and judging from your appearance, I’d wager you’ve seen your fair share of ours.

“You are to obey my brother’s word without question. If he believes you deserve punishment, you take it without question. If I, Lukas Bondevik, the Shadow, the king of Crodinia’s husband, believe you to be unworthy of my brother’s company, I will have you killed. You are disposable to me, and you are disposable to my brother. Do not forget that. Do you understand me?” 

The last of the hooded man’s Altorienese words trailed into the boy’s ears. When he finished, the boy nodded without a word without looking up from the ground. 

“Good,” Lukas said. “Keep close to my brother, and I’m sure everything will be well.”

Finally, Emil spoke up. “What is he to me, brother? He’s a gift, but I don’t…” 

In his brother’s presence, Lukas gave him a sweet smile. “Why, he is your pet, Emil. He will be yours to clothe, bathe, feed, and discipline. I hope you like him.” 

“Pet?” the prince repeated in confusion. The last pet he had ever had was a puffin back at their home across the Blizzarding Seas. The trend of keeping live Altorienese prisoners as pets was a practice only recently implemented. To go from a fishing bird to a human being was an enormous gap in such a short amount of notice. “What am I supposed to do with him?” 

“Why, whatever it is you do with most pets,” Lukas answered in unsettlingly ordinary fashion. “Play with him, train him, beat him if you must.” The prince swallowed at the last one. “He is yours to raise. Now, if you’re done asking questions, let us leave this awful place.” 

That, the prince could agree on. His brother was already starting to walk towards the end of the first corridor back. “Don’t fall behind, Emil. And keep your pet close. If you lose him, I’m afraid you’ll never find him again.”

The prince looked to his unkempt pet who had been silent the entire time in his company. “Let’s go, then.” He wondered where to grab ahold of his pet, as he was sure he would be unable to make it out of here without physical guidance. The boy’s arms were caked with dirt, ashes, and…was that blood? He recognized the dark brown stains from the soldiers returning from war, and there was no mistaking the ones on the boy. But as he saw no apparent wounds on his pet, he could not even be sure the stains were his own. 

Shuddering, the prince thought to take hold of a part of the boy’s rootskin cloth and pull it with him. Having pinched a fair piece, he started to go after his brother and found that his pet made no resistance when being lead along. Many twists and turns later, the prince forgot about the shadows and wraiths lurking in the dungeons and thought more to the images of the boys in the cellar. From where did they come to have found their way to this place? Had they been brought in the cart that he had seen earlier this evening? Perhaps his brother would have answers for him later, he thought. For now, he just wanted to be back in bed. 

They exited the dungeon some minutes later. The guards were still awake and positioned by the gates as bored as ever. They made no expression when they saw an additional person leaving the dungeons with the prince and his brother. When Lukas led them to the residential wing, he finally stopped and spoke to the prince. 

“I’m going to take a bath and go to sleep. You should probably do the same, Emil.” He paused and looked to the brownish boy in the background. The very sight of him gave the impression that he carried airborne pathogens and curses. “I advise you do clean your pet before dressing him or setting him to bed. The maids will need to work harder if you don’t.”

“Y-Yes, Lukas,” the prince said. 

“And do so in the common bathhouse. Ours is out of the question, and the guest bathhouse might have someone still there.”

“Yes, Lukas.” So it was going to be the common bathhouse tonight. It was nowhere near as ornate and supplied as the royal and guest ones, but the prince had used it a few times in the past. Plus, with the baths being the smallest, they would be the easiest to clean once he was through bathing his new pet.

His brother smiled and touched the prince’s cheek. “You know where to find me if you need me. Happy birthday, Emil.” 

The prince shied his eyes in the other direction. It was not at all what he had expected, but his brother had always known what was good for him before he, himself, did. Maybe this was going to be a change in the right direction. He would finally have someone to read, dine, and talk with that was not Mathias or Lukas. “Thank you for your gift, brother.” His brother smiling one last time, they parted ways to separate bathhouses. The prince led his pet towards the common bathhouse which was reserved for squires, lower scholars, and stewards. 

It took a great deal of coaxing and nonverbal directions on the prince’s part. The Altorienese language was completely different than those of the west, bearing accentuated syllables and writing that was more art than letting. But with enough patience, the prince was able to get his pet unclothed and into the bath. He then stripped himself and joined him with a floating cradle of soaps and oils in hand. It was too late to find a maid to prepare the hot water with salts and herbs, but the already provided soaps and oils should have sufficed in the meantime. The entire time, the prince draped water over the boy and scrubbed away with sponges and cloths. It was funny, he was thinking, having a human as a “pet.” There was so much more he could do with a person than he could ever imagine with a puffin. True, he was no unicorn or griffin, but if he raised him well enough, he could be a good companion. Possibly a friend. 

A friend, Emil thought. It had been some time since he had left his birthing home by the cold seas. He seldom had company, but his brother and puffin had always been there to give him emotional support. Once he moved to the capital with his brother, he had grown so isolated that any hopes of making friends with the rest of the boys and girls his age was lost on him. Maybe Lukas knew this. Maybe he wanted to give him a second chance at having a companion that he did not need to feel intimidated by. This boy was his to command, not a servant of the king or someone tied down to familial obligations. He was entirely his. 

First he thought it best to give him a name. He finished bathing his pet and found that after the grime was washed away, he had lovely cream-colored skin with just a hint of yellow; it reminded him of peach whip that he sometimes ate on warm summer days. The boy’s hair was rather shiny and smooth, unlike the men in Dotriba or Thursaunia with curled or wavy locks. Emil wondered if he should cut it or maintain it the way it was. There was something about the manner in which they parted on the sides that he found appealing. He could always decide on it later. 

Then, there was his face. It was teetering on the edge of being masculine yet feminine, possibly as a result of malnutrition. There was also a hard look in the boy’s eyes. He had seen things and knew things that could torment Emil’s dreams for weeks, that much he was certain. Who could blame him for being so guarded? Most of his life had to have been lived in fear, scorn, and hate. Emil did not even know if his pet quite understood the situation he was in, translation or not. Plucked from the shadows and thrusted into the lap of leashed luxury. Not knowing much else, Emil thought it was a much better alternative. He was wary at first, but a part of him wanted to make this boy happy. He would earn his trust and introduce him to his hobbies. They would dine and play and learn together, and they would be the best of companions. Childish though it were on his coming of age day, Emil wished he had thanked his brother harder when they had parted ways. When he would see his brother again, he would extend his gratitude. But for now, he still needed to give his pet a name. 

“Come,” he said, leading the boy out of the water. He grabbed one of two thick robes and wrapped his thin pet in it. Wrapping himself, he led him to the changing rooms where plain tunics were distributed among the common residents. The prince normally did not stay up at this hour, but he knew there were few servants to find and give them proper outfits. The tunics would do for now, and he was not picky. He had no doubt his pet would mind, either. 

“Put this on,” he instructed, and gave him a set of clothes. The boy put them on without a word. When they were both dressed, the prince led the way back to his chambers, taking care to bring his old garments along. His pet’s rags they left discarded on the floor. A servant would come and dispose of them in the morning. 

Though on the other side of the castle, the walk back was rather peaceful. There was no one to disturb the prince and his pet’s path, and the halls were fused with simple warming spells that kept the air at a comfortable temperature for the guests. All the better, the prince thought, as he was aware that Altorien was much warmer than the northern kingdom. 

Upon coming to his room, the prince led his pet inside and thought about his new roommate’s sleeping situation. His own bed was constructed just big enough for one person, so the floor was the only other alternative. With plenty of duvets and pillows to spare, he made a makeshift pad on the rug next to his bedframe and gestured for his pet to lay there. To his delight, he pet immediately obeyed. This was easier than he thought. A dog would need rigorous enforcements, a puffin could not be trained out of leaving droppings. The prince could only imagine trying to raise the alternative griffin, and the thought seemed so farfetched now. This was much better. 

“I need something to call you,” he said to the boy. “But first, I should tell you mine.” He pointed to himself. “I am Emil Steilsson. Son of—” He cut himself short. There was no need to give the boy the full formalities; it would only confuse him. He was about to list off names when he stopped to think. His pet must have had a name already. Surely it would be easier to call him by something he already knew. “What is your name?” he asked. When he received no answer, he repeated his name. “I am Emil. You are?”

Suddenly, the boy looked up at him with his brilliant eyes. Emil nearly gasped at their color. It was the first time he had seen them directly. They were perfectly golden. Two pools of sunshine that melted the prince’s heart. 

“Leon,” the boy said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone, this is the author of the original “Rings”, whose latest chapters float somewhere in limbo in a file hidden in my laptop’s cloud system. In other words, I lost them. Sorry. 
> 
> Some time ago, I reread my later works that I put on indefinite hiatus in a sore attempt to start them back up and finish them once and for all, “Rings” being one of them. And I found that what I had written for this story doesn't completely reflect the style or path I originally wanted to take, parts of it due to personal issues, pressure, time, a conflict of interests, and being half-asleep while writing each chapter and not thoroughly looking back. This story served as a way to sort of distract myself from those aspects of my life and entertain others at the same time. However, somewhere along the way in the drafting process, I took a different direction with the plot, and it was a major directional shift. I briefly mentioned an aspect of it somewhere in the original first chapter if you manage to catch it, so I’m not sure why I never followed through…
> 
> After the shift, the story essentially split itself into two different ones: the original “Rings” and another unnamed story that probably won’t be publicized, even though I’ve written a great many pages of it. That wasn’t what I wanted to happen, mainly in part to it cutting out a huge chunk of the world I had been building and even the initial lead up to what the title of “Rings” originally stood for. For a long time, I struggled with how I wanted to handle the situation. I didn’t want this story to die, and I wanted to give a very niche community something interesting to read and look forward to in the same way other writers did for me. 
> 
> It wasn’t until I got better mentally and physically that I decided to throw caution to the wind and sweep all of my other backlog under the rug. Writing as a hobby is something that I genuinely still enjoy. I’ve claimed to write for myself and share my enjoyment with others if they find it in what I produce, so why not stick to that principle? Also, I don't expect there to be a lot of readers, so I'll be able to comfortably write without any spotlight on me.
> 
> Thus, with that, I decided I needed to start “Rings” over. There were a lot of technicalities and fat that needed to be cut. The tense also didn’t fit, I decided, because this is a story set in the past of a universe that is not our own, so a change from the present tense to past tense was necessary. I also wasn’t happy with the pacing and more unhappy that I fudged some parts due to this looming fear of censorship. The pacing and fears went together hand in hand to create this monster of a blockade, coupled with the fear that I was making some of my favorite characters into something I didn’t want them to be. But in some ways, this isn’t them, yet it is them. I suppose that’s the magic of fan-fiction—and part of the literal magic of this story. 
> 
> So without further ado, I present to you the true and rewritten “Rings”. Please enjoy it in its consistent (!) updates. I’ve decided that writing chapters ahead of time leaves me less exposed to self-criticisms of how I handle continuity and progressing plot points. From hereon up until a good while, a chapter will be updated every Wednesday, sometimes Saturdays.
> 
> Edit: Decided to rewrite the story summary, since the old one wasn't doing this story enough justice for the eventual path the plot progresses towards. Also changed a significant word, but I will not say which one.


	2. His Poise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil gets accustomed to his new pet while a handful of royals are away on a hunting trip.

Hunting bugles awoke the prince at the crack of dawn, their low droning tune ringing familiar in his ears. His eyes were heavy with sand and his hands oddly sore. He then remembered toiling away at cleaning his pet before bed. Leaning over his covers, he saw his pet breathing heavily and breaking into a fever of sweat despite being fast asleep. The gods had not been kind to him.

Unable to go back to sleep, the prince let his pet rest while he went to fetch breakfast. If the bugles were sounding, the kings and their men should have been leaving by now, his brother and Mathias joining them. The hunters aside, most of the castle should have still been resting from the eventful turnout of his birthday celebration. It would be enough time to give him respite from greeting everyone at the dining hall. A quick breakfast was all he needed, and then he would take some food back to his chambers and feed his pet there. He suspected it would not help if the castle residents saw an unannounced Altorienese roaming freely in the halls. His pet would have to adjust to his surroundings, as well.

“Leon…Le-on…” the prince practiced his pet’s name on his tongue like he would a new spell. He had thought he would have had to pronounce an overly complicated name like the ones he had read about in Altorienese history books. The former empire’s naming conventions were just as complex as their language, he had read, yet his pet had claimed that his name was “Leon.” Such a simple name and definitely not Altorienese. Still, it was easy to pronounce, and if that was what he responded to, then he had no reason to complain. Accepting the convenience, he went down to the dining hall where the kitchens were just starting to awaken with activity.

Early risers, servers, and assistant cooks were out and about when the prince entered. Some bid him good morning as they passed; others rushed to fetch ingredients and silverware for the rest of the residents. Tables were filled with smoked meats, fresh bread, stewed greens, and piles of pastries. Among the diners, there were two the prince immediately recognized. They could only be kings: the auras they exuded seemed to glow in the presence of commoners, one of a confident romantic and the other a prickly man of privilege.

“Good morning, Your Majesties,” he greeted them as he sat himself down next to Francis Bonnefoy and across from Roderich Edelstein.

“A wonderful morning to you, Emil,” the Iris King raised his glass to him. He was drinking wine, and, judging by the grease streaks and crumbs on his plate, had finished eating sausages and frosted berry cakes.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Roderich looked to him with dark violet eyes. In all his years, the prince could not recall ever seeing another Thursaunian with the same colored irises as him. He almost wondered if it had something to do with the king’s noble bloodline, until he remembered that the Edelstines were rarely, if ever, blessed by the gods.

“How does it feel to be an adult?” Francis asked, sipping his wine. He grabbed a jelly tart to accompany his bittersweet drink.

“Nothing different,” the prince shrugged. He helped himself to a plate of breaded and fried icefish, potatoes, a roll of bread, and a corncake, eating between exchanges of conversation.

“Perhaps not physically,” Roderich added, “but you’re allowed to take over your father’s position as lord to your house. Most importantly, you’re allowed to marry.” The prince did not speak. “Marriage is the best way to build relationships and allies.”

Of course it would be Roderich Edelstein who would think in such thoughts. Hailing from House Edelstein of Bluerzi Gardens, his family was the wealthiest in the newly formed Thursaunian alliance, his wife’s being the most heavily militarized. Being from the two most powerful houses within proximity of each other, the very existence of Thursaunia’s union was built upon their marriage. It made the prince wonder what sort of kingdom Crodinia might have become if Mathias had instead chosen to wed Tim’s younger sister from Belethren, instead.

“But then,” crass as ever, the Teacup King continued to pour his thoughts into words, “that would be difficult for you, wouldn’t it? You’re _the_ Steilsson, after all.” 

Francis stiffened. Even he was not tactless as to talk that way to the Crodinian king’s brother-in-law. The very air around the table seemed to still.

It was some time before Roderich spoke again. He had been stirring the cream in his tea and nibbling biscuits. “It skips…how many generations?”

The prince flashed them a nervous look. “It’s random,” he hesitated to answer. “The last of my ancestors carried it five generations prior. Before that, it was two, and before that, it was three.” He ran his thumb along the circumference of his silver ring.

Roderich’s eyes were hard as the spectacles they stared behind. “And they thought letting you live in the capital was the best option?” Francis looked like he wanted to slap him for his lack of reserve.

“It’s not bad as you might think,” the prince stepped in to say. “My brother has been very generous and patient. Our most powerful mages and the greatest scholars are also here in Markal. They know how to keep me in check. It’s among a few reasons why my father thought it would be better if I stayed here. Nothing has happened since I was young.” He wanted to sound convincing, but he knew how catastrophic it would be should something ever go wrong. Last time’s incident had been entirely due to carelessness, a mistake he and his guardians were sure never to repeat. So as long as there were people to watch over him, there was nothing to fear. Even so, he always felt the need to justify his words whenever he tried to make those assurances to others and himself.

“If everyone else in Crodinia feels at ease with you living in the king’s castle, then I’ll take your word for it.” Francis said as much, but his expression betrayed certain doubt. Magic was not prominent in Thursaunia and Dotriba; both Roderich and Francis’ people had relied on logic and reason in just about every major event in their histories. There was tangible logic in magic, as well, but there were enough quirks and exceptions to its principles that could not be studied objectively.

“Then again,” Roderich piped in, “if you really are uncertain about marriage, you could always plainly remain a lord bannerman. Maybe it would be better to tide the Crodinian throne to someone who wasn’t a threat to himself and others.” Francis had nothing to say to that; he instead looked to the prince with watchful eyes. He was testing him, not that the prince could see it.

“Mathias has no immediate relatives, and I am Lukas’ only blood relative aside from our mother and his uncle. Whether I’m a Steilsson or not doesn’t matter.” The prince’s voice grew quiet when he thought of how he would even go about passing the throne on in his position, however. Roderich and Francis had every reason to judge him as they did. “But,” he continued, “Crodinia is in the hands of a good king, and by the time it will come to consider anyone inheriting the throne from him, I am confident a solid solution will have been found.”

The Teacup King adjusted his spectacles. He took a breath and was about to retort when the neighboring Iris King silenced him with a stare. He seized for a moment and stood up from his seat with a crease in his brow. “I’m going to the kitchen. Your chefs can learn a thing or two about the blandness of your so-called sweetrolls.” With that, he adjusted his collar and excused himself from his company.

When he was out of earshot, Francis leaned to the prince’s side. “You wouldn’t know it, but he’s an excellent baker, maybe even worthy enough to be my rival. That’s how he can afford to be so picky.”

“Really?” The prince had not known either of them even found the time to bake.

“Yes, but sadly, he leaves behind a mess of dishes to be cleaned. I’ve heard that from Gilbert who heard that from Ludwig.” Ludwig was Gilbert Beilschmidt’s younger brother. The two looked virtually nothing alike, but at the core, the prince had heard they had the same principles of upkeep. “The same is said with his concerts,” Francis said while wrapping a lock of his shoulder-length hair around his finger. “Our Teacup King plays lovely music, but the amount of effort that goes into setting up a single said concert takes enough time, effort, and money to pave a village-worth of roadway in my kingdom.”

“I…never knew.”

Francis exhaled a laugh. “I thought he would have put on a short performance for you at your party, seeing how everyone was here, but I’m guessing his old habits are hard to kick. He rode alongside his wife’s present, instead.”

The prince blinked. “What do you mean?”

The king looked at him with pitiable eyes, the same kind, the prince realized, his brother often wore when explaining harsh truths to him. “My friend, I am going to miss that innocent emptiness you carry. Well, I don’t think you’ll gain anything from it, but our fellow neighbor, as rich and spoiled as he is, has a way of trying to squeeze every star of his purchases.”

“What?”

“He’s cheap,” Francis bluntly put. “Not that it’s a wholly bad practice, but when you’re a king, it can reflect badly on your subjects.”

“How so?”

Francis leaned in. “Let this be a lesson to you, Emil: being a king doesn’t mean being able to ride on the luxuries and services your subjects provide you; it means giving back as well. In exchange for their pledge of loyalty, a good king is supposed to give land and protection and uphold justice. Otherwise, he is no better than a tyrant.” He looked longingly ahead and straight through the prince, musing. “Before my country was part of Dotriba, my kingdom had nobles who turned blind eyes to the cries of their people. And you know what happened in the end?”

The prince swallowed the last of his breakfast and gratefully so. He had read his fair share of Dotriban history and the parts before the Bonnefoys became of one of the ruling presiders. In an escalating instance of lavish spending and negligent distribution of wealth, there had been an upheaval of power by the commoners. A new ruler was placed upon the seat of the old kingdom, but not before removing those responsible for its downfall.

“They beheaded the king and the queen,” the prince said, nearly motionless.

Francis smiled in contrast to his kingdom’s dark page of history. “Wonderful. So you do keep up with your foreign studies.” He sighed. “But yes, that was a brutal reminder of kings’ purposes. I do my part, but I’ll admit I have my own weaknesses. “

“I can’t imagine, Your Majesty,” the prince put as politely as possible.

He laughed as a western Dotriban only could, a throaty chorus of honking not unlike that of an airy snow goose. “I’m glad we went to war so people like you could think that way, Emil.”

“…Your Majesty?”

“Forgive me, Emil,” the king said, “I meant no offense. No, my weakness is my strength, too.” He placed a passionate hand on his chest. “I am a lover of beautiful things. But as beautiful things come, not all are without their pains and downfalls. Like a rose with thorns: beautiful to behold, not so much to actually hold.”

The prince humored him with a smile. “I can see that. My blood would be my rose then.”

“There, you see?” It was hard to not smile in the Iris King’s presence. He had a way of drawing in attention the same way Mathias could with his comrades. “It’s something you need to watch, but you can also wield it like a sword—a sharp one, at that.”

“If I could control it,” the prince sighed.

“Perhaps you could. If our ancestors could do it once upon a time, then maybe you can, too, with the right discipline. I’m not sure how your magic works, but if you don’t try, you might never know.” He added, “Just…maybe don’t practice while there are so many guests here, alright?”

The prince nodded, and Francis excused himself from breakfast. Off to find beautiful things, he said while heading through the wing leading to the gardens. Alone again, the prince gathered some food in a cloth napkin and started back to his room.

When he returned, his pet was still asleep, peacefully burying his head under a thick set of pillows, the shape of his body the only thing that betrayed his presence. The prince set down his parcel of breakfast and softly shook the boy’s shoulder. “Leon,” he whispered. “Wake up. It’s past dawn. You need to eat.” He gave his pet some space as he came to his senses. He watched Leon look around, dazed and confused at first, possibly because of the light seeping in from the drawn windows. The lack of soft rainbows dancing on stone were absent when the sun shone through; left over was a display of tapestries, books, and shelves of magic trinkets. Leon must have smelled the food because his next attention went to the unraveled cloth which held meats, breads, fruit, and cakes. The prince brought this to him and permitted him to eat.

“Here,” he said. “I brought this for y—” He did not have time to finish speaking before Leon drove his hands into a cluster of rolls and sausage and devoured bite after bite. He continued chewing and swallowing and taking piece after piece as the prince’s eyes were wide with shock.

He must have been starving. Emil wanted to hold his hand out to him and stroke him as Lukas often did for him when he was distraught, but he could not move. His eyes were transfixed on his pet the entire time. An unfamiliar feeling writhed in his stomach. He realized his charity: he had saved this boy from certain doom. What had become of the others in that cell last night? Would they move on and be sold off to other nobles, or was their fate something worse? He would ask Lukas when he returned, Emil told himself, but for now, he felt obligated to be here for his pet. This was a good start. That Leon accepted his food meant there must have been enough trust to eat in front of him, savage or not. The prince felt a smile creeping across his lips.

By mid-afternoon, he had given his pet a tour of the private wing, the kitchen, and the study hall. He kept Leon close to his side in case any of the guards found it unusual to see an Altorienese boy walking next to their prince, but fortunately, most of their attention was redirected because of the guests. Their prince had never made too many demands in the past, so they naturally let him keep to his own business.

Emil’s tour ended at the stables where he liked to take rides by the cliffs. Here, the stablemaster kept ponies shipped from across the Blizzarding Seas with hardy velvet coats and pretty white stockings. Lukas and Mathias had taken their own horses out hunting, and more steeds were being used by accompanying huntsmen.

“Hopefully we can go riding together one day,” he excitedly told his pet. “The horses from the Islands of Morstur are hardy but quite friendly. They’re prized all around Eliatha, and we have the best stock imported here in Markal, the capital. I’m sure you’ll be able to ride one without any problems once we get around to it.” He looked to Leon for any hints of shared eagerness, but the boy’s expression betrayed offhand disinterest. The language barrier between them was far too great, and while Leon had picked up a few phrases such as common greetings and “please” and “thank you,” the rest of the prince’s Crodinian must have been too overwhelming for him to absorb all at once.

“Let’s end our tour for today,” the prince finally said. He was no better talking to a statue as it was.

The next course of action was to lead Leon to the seamstress’s workshop where adjustments to royalty and higher-ranked soldiers’ garments were typically made. Complete custom clothing was reserved for special events, but Leon could not wear the prince’s clothes forever. He did not look good in muted purples and blues; he needed something that would cater well to his dark hair and golden eyes. Red seemed best, the prince decided after giving it some thought. He had seen red and yellow worn as common colors in Altorienese fashion, and since yellow would be too redundant and bright against Crodinia’s overcast climate, the prince thought a rich sanguine shade would be ideal. He brought Leon to the tailor and allowed him to be measured and fitted for clothes worthy of a prince’s companion. His outfits were not to be too ordinary that they would fit a squire or servant, but they could not be too elaborate that they would overpower the prince’s own clothes. After measurements were through, the tailor told them a full wardrobe would be completed in two weeks’ time. Two weeks, seven outfits. The prince and his pet could surely live with that.

“How about we eat lunch by Little Lake?” Emil suggested after they were done with that affair. He spoke with a steward to have a meal set up for two people, which consisted of baked salmon in zested cream and a root medley coupled with ale and butter cakes. Until then, he thought to circle the gardens with his pet by his side. When they came to the water’s edge, Emil noticed in the pond’s reflection that Leon was nearly as tall as he was, possibly even taller by a slight hair. How had he not noticed before, he wondered? He looked back and saw that his pet was looking up at the canopy of winter willows, the first time his head had craned past a straightforward level. His back was stooped. Had he stood straight, he would be taller than the prince still. Emil had not intended to choose a pet that was larger than him, but he still found comfort in his companionship. Leon said little and demanded less. Even if it was because of the language barrier, he did not resist him when he was told to follow him or stand still. It had taken his puffin almost half a year before he would even sit still in his chambers; Leon took a matter of seconds.

“Your meal is ready, Prince Emil,” a maid came to say. She led the way to a secluded table set out underneath a grove of winter willows and frost lilies. In the daytime, the flora glittered with a hundred diamonds in the overcast light. It was fortunate that Crodinia seldom received direct sunlight, as the prince could only imagine how blinding they would be, otherwise. He thanked the maid and dismissed her, leaving Leon and him to dine together. Here, he taught his pet how to properly use knives, spoons, and forks and the words for the food items on their table. Leon, the prince was quick to catch on, had trouble pronouncing words that contained “th” or hard “r” sounds. His enunciation sounded like rough water when saying things like “three roots” or “hearth,” but otherwise, his voice was a smooth almost higher pitch of velvet from his brother’s.

“It’s…good,” Leon said, his first complete, if not short, sentence in Crodinian. He was eating a slice of butter cake.

Emil warmly smiled. “That makes me glad.” His pet looked at him with those striking golden pools of his. In the daytime, they were a brighter shade of yellow, more leaning towards the color of wheat or sunflower petals than gold or honey.

Leon’s eyes darted from his food to the gardens and to his owner, his master. “Thank you,” he said, in almost perfect Crodinian.

The prince’s heart fluttered. “You’re welcome, Leon.”

By dusk, the hunters had not returned. The party had to be out camping, meaning the foreign guests would be staying longer, which also meant more emptied cellars, chambers to clean, and ears to entertain. The castle was chaos at dinnertime, even without most of the kings being present. In normal circumstances, with the king and his husband’s absence, Emil would be the one to take charge of the throne, but Lukas had passed that duty onto the council. For that Emil was grateful. He wanted to spend as much time bonding with Leon as he could. It was peaceful, just the two of them. Leon did not gossip, for he had no relatable experiences; he did not criticize, for he was not in a place of higher power; most importantly, he was not wary of him the way others were. Born leagues and kingdoms away, the Altorienese did not know of House Steilsson and its history. He saw Emil for who he was, plain and simple. Because of that, Emil could be who he was, also plain and simple.

Like lunch, the two spent the evening dining together and alone in a room separate from the main study hall. When their plates were cleared, Emil sat himself down by his pet’s side and opened a book filled with inked illustrations of legendary knights and mythical creatures going into battle. He loved stories like these, those filled with adventures of courageous men and women taking arms alongside divine beasts. There had been a time when ancient ones like eldritch dragons and colossi dominated the untamed landscapes of the world. When humans came into existence, they brought with them logic, love, and law. Against all odds they were said to have driven the ancient ones far from the land and into the Sea of R’as.

“The time after the divine beings ascended from this world was called The Dawning,” Emil explained to Leon. He pointed to a detailed illustration of men against a rising run, some clad in full iron armor while others stood beside their comrades in sparse clothing, some naked. “That was when the first humans were blessed by divine beasts to harness magic and give light and technology to our world.” He flipped the page, Leon watching intently. Fine etchings displayed a picture of men constructing houses, farming lands, pulling stones, and working side by side with horses, oxen, and dogs.

On the next page over were drawings of men cloaked in robes scribing runes and glyphs onto scrolls and tomes. Beside them were griffins, dragons, phoenixes, manticores, and pegasi to name but a few. More curious were creatures that bore no resemblance to any familiar in most lore; some bore the likeliness of serpents, eagles, or bulls but not exactly in complete forms. These creatures and the words recorded were those taken from the divine beings. Not everyone had retained the rights to magic; not everyone could successfully transform into other creatures. “I’m sure some of these look familiar,” Emil pointed to the creatures. He had heard stories from the veteran soldiers of the Sunset War, of when fel’n transformed into ferocious beasts and slaughtered their enemies in numbers. It had taken a great deal to euthanize the Altorienese fel’n, namely for their magic resistance, but in the end, they were not immune to cold Azielan steel.

Leon stared with vacant eyes, thus the prince moved ahead and recited the stories to him. Sometime later, his pet let out a yawn, signaling the end of a long yet uneventful day. And here the prince had planned on going into town and practicing his new spells. He could save that for tomorrow, and perhaps the hunting party would be back by then. Once they left, the castle would become peaceful again, and he would have more time to concentrate on his studies.

“Shall we go?” He looked to Leon who nodded, despite not understanding the question. Emil closed his book and called for a steward to clean up after them. Because Leon had been cleaned yesterday and Mathias and Lukas had not yet returned, Emil thought it would be a great opportunity to show his pet the royal bathhouse. “It’s not as big as the guest house, but they have better water and more privacy there,” he told Leon as they walked towards the private wing. The evening still young, the grounds were scattered with scholars and servants, but the prince thought it would be best to retire early and prepare some activities for tomorrow. This time he would rise early and bring his pet into the city, where they might have breakfast at a tavern. When they would finish, he would buy a block of glassbark and carve it into something wonderful, either for his brother or Mathias. Decisions, decisions, he thought while leading his pet to the bathhouse, Leon dutifully staying by his side the entire way.

With the king and his accompanying party still absent, Emil and Leon had a pleasant bath all to themselves. Emil made sure to douse his pet with heavily scented oils to rid him of any lingering stenches. When clean and dried, Leon’s skin was glowing and his hair black silk. Emil reached out to touch a strand and found it fine and slippery like sea grass; it was impossible to grow sprigs or tangle, a sensation that made the prince slightly envious if only because he had spent countless hours trying to keep his stubborn white hair groomed. Still he thought it alright in the end. Leon’s face was still thin from near starvation, but after a couple more weeks of eating, he would have well-defined features to call his own. Emil eagerly awaited that day.

At his chambers, a mattress of straw and goose feathers had been prepared for his pet to sleep in. A bed frame could not be provided on such short notice, but the cushions were plenty sufficient compared to stone and dirt. Emil watched his pet make himself comfortable and fall asleep nearly instantly.

“Still tired, are you?” the prince’s voice trailed off. He could hear his pet’s heavy slumbering breathing from his own bed. To pass the time before he, too, succumbed to sleep, he lit up his trackle light and started reading a novel from his aunt about a soldier’s daughter and her three loyal griffins. At last, the prince could not keep his eyes open after three chapters in, and he promptly fell asleep, book still in hand.

* * *

The prince took his pet on a shopping trip to the capital city, Markal, the next morning. There, he had planned to spend some of his birthday money, one such item being glassbark for carving. As its name suggested, glassbark glimmered like amber in sunlight. Carving and cutting it was the same as any piece of lumber, but when heating the raw wood, the unique sap that coated the fibers crystallized into fire-resistant material perfect for mantelpieces and ornaments. From afar, glassbark trees looked as plain as any other, but one only need tear away at the thick outer layer of a trunk and uncover a viscous layer of sap beneath. Most glassbark trees grew in southern Thursaunia, yet almost all its lumber was treated and exported from Belethren.

Emil ended up purchasing his piece of the crystallized wood from a craftsman who claimed it was from a Belethrenic lumbermill. It bore a caramelized hue with swirls of mahogany and flecks of gold. The block silently spoke to the prince as if begging for him to choose it, to which he happily purchased it for two silver moons.

Leon was waiting in the carriage when the prince returned with his two escorts. He had been kept in the cabin, something that pained his master to do, but according to his men, he was still untrained and unlearned in the Crodinian customs and language. It was for the best that he remained inside the confines of the carriage while Emil did his shopping.

That did not mean Emil never showed him what he purchased. Before noon, the cabin was filled with a plethora of trinkets and goodies, mostly snacks and the occasional quill and parchment set. Leon was never occupied without a treat, and he discovered that he had a fondness for smoked salmon jerky. Emil taught him the Crodinian words for the savory snack, and he learned how to request more in a matter of minutes.

When it was two hours into the afternoon, Emil declared their shopping trip complete, and the coachman started the journey up the capital market back to the castle. Sometime into the ride, the prince bashfully looked to his pet and conversed with a low voice. “I’ve been able to take trips alone now. Well, not alone, not really. There’s always someone there to watch me just in case…” His hands were cupped, but Leon caught his master tugging at the metal ring he always wore. “It took me a while to convince Lukas I was able to go into town without him. He always knew what to buy even when I didn’t say it.” He rested his elbow along the open window and stared at the colorful banners and signs passing by. “Perhaps I was just happy with what he got me. But I deserve to make myself happy every once in a while.” He stole a glance at Leon, who was staring directly at him. It was as if he could read his emotions even if the words did not reach him.

“And yet,” Emil sheepishly smiled, “he was the one who had to tell me that. It’s strange to think about that now that I’m an adult…”

A bump in the road made the entire carriage jolt. Most of the items inside the cabin were secure, however the glassbark block had not been fastened and went flying from the cabin seat and out the open window.

“Oh no!” Emil cried and leaned against the door. Something must have given way, because in that instant, the latch came undone and swung right open. Emil screamed as his body fell forward towards the passing ground. A hand seized his shoulder and pulled him back to his seat, a dark flash bolting in front of him and retreating as quickly as it came. Just like that, the cabin door was closed, the prince was safely in his seat, and Leon was holding the once fallen block out to him. He scarcely had a moment to take a breath.

“Ah…Thank you, Leon.” Still shaken, Emil nearly dropped the glassbark when taking it back. His heart was hammering. Remembering himself, he checked his right hand and sighed in relief.

The carriage stopped. “Everything alright, Your Highness?” the coachman called from the front.

“I’m fine,” he answered back. “Just a small mishap.” The carriage resumed its journey, but both passengers were restless. Emil had fallen silent after that and had not spoken again until they were back at the castle.

They were under the main portcullis when Leon pointed at his hand to the ring. “What…is that?”

Emil was caught off guard by his Crodinian. He had only been teaching him a few phrases and fewer questions. Hearing his pet speaking was going to take some getting used to. “This? This is a family heirloom of mine. It’s been passed down for hundreds of years to the next heir to House Steilsson.” He would have said more, but he knew the words would be lost on Altorienese ears. Even so, Leon continued to stare at his wringed hands until the carriage stopped and the servants unloaded the baggage. While they were bringing everything to Emil’s chambers, he took Leon to the garden with his glassbark and Azielan knife in hand.

The two sat down on an idle grassy knoll where just on the edge at the bottom, a circle of white pointed flowers grew. “If you’re tired, you can sleep, Leon,” Emil told his pet. “I’m going to be a while.” He set to work carving away at his block. Having never used Azielan steel before, it both frightened and intrigued him the way the metal cut through the crystallized wood like jelly. A careless cut could slice a man’s thumb clean off, he realized, and took great care in placing his strokes.

The more he whittled, the more a shape began to take form. A head began to appear. Then a long neck. He was working on the body when he started to feel Leon’s eyes resting on him.

“What do you think?” He held out the incomplete sculpture out to him.

Leon tilted his head. “What is it?”

Emil coyly smiled. “Maybe you have a word for it in Altorienese. You can tell me when I’m done.” He then resumed his work. As the pieces fell away, he gathered them into his lap until the shavings formed a shimmering pile of curled wood. When ground down, the sawdust could be used to decorate sculptures or mixed into paint for a sparkling effect. It was rare when glassbark ever went to waste.

“Mathias has an Azielan steel axe,” the prince said. He used his thumb as a guide to curve his knife around the wood. He was extra careful not to graze his skin along the blade. “He let me hold it once—in its case. It’s really heavy. But I can see why he didn’t want me unsheathing it.” He chuckled. “I wouldn’t have been able to swing something like that.”

Emil had never learned how to engage in swordplay or any other weaponry. Even the most basic techniques were lost to him though he had watched his brother and the king train hundreds of times. His physicians had said he was too frail for physical activity, and if any accidents were to occur, something could happen. Even practicing spells required stamina, but whatever Emil could conjure was signature enough that he could not complain about his setbacks. He was special. He was still learning to accept that.

Yet, a part of him wished for something greater. He knew it was impossible to be like the heroes in the stories, and it was a foolish hope for someone so learned. At the same time, he wished he was brave enough to spar alongside his king or even strike an elk with a bolt spell atop a galloping horse. Just _something_.

“Master—” Leon jolted, but it was too late. A sharp cold sting passed through the tip of Emil’s index finger and cut through the skin into the flesh, and the prince cried out more in surprise than pain.

“Ah!” he gasped and dropped his tools. He squeezed the end of his finger and stared. A large cut split through his skin, shining bright red. _Not bleeding_ , Emil realized with a breath of relief. “I-I’m fine.” His lips trembled despite his words. “This is nothing.” He took a few deep breaths and released his hold on his finger.

Leon watched dumbstruck as his master turned his wrist and waved his hand. Out of thin air, a trail of what could only be described as white fire swirled to his fingertips. Emil held still as the fire licked his wound and burned until the cut appeared to cauterize. The bright flames extinguished in a soft flurry, and in place, Emil looked virtually unharmed.

The spell complete, the prince hung his head forward with a heavy chest. It had been some time since he had needed to heal himself. He was nearly afraid he had forgotten how to. But alas, the spell of cold fire could not escape him—not so long as his heart continued to beat.

Seeing his pet stunned, Emil smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault. I’m better now.”

Leon whispered something on his breath. Altorienese. Emil failed to understand, but he did not doubt the possibility of fear. As anyone should feel, he sadly thought. For good measure, he held out his hand as one might to get a dog to shake. Leon was no dog, but he reached out as well and glided his fingertips over his master’s.

Warm.

The boy’s once alert gold eyes relaxed. He retreated his hand, satisfied with the gesture, and awaited further instructions.

Emil, content with only suffering one cut for the day, sheathed his knife and collected the glassbark shavings. He beckoned Leon follow him to the mason workshop where he could deposit the shimmering pieces for refurbishing the castle. “I’d send for someone to do that for me,” he explained when they left the ashy, earth-smelling space, “but I wanted to show you something.”

The mason workshop and the blacksmith forge were constructed separate of the main castle so the sea breeze might blow the smoke, dust, and ashes far from the royal grounds. Emil led his pet to the edge of them. The castle was constructed at the sea’s edge atop a grand unscalable cliffside. The southern end overlooked the Three Crossings, a network of bridges that joined the central and southern reaches of Crodinia. In the mornings, the sun rose above the middle bridge, and come dusk, it shot out to the other end of the sea as if being swallowed by a watery grave. Because of the wind, clouds often rolled from the sea and inland, leaving the sky above dotted with clearings. It was a perfect place for astronomers to study the stars and musicians to sing. In quieter times, it was also a place to idle and think.

Though constructed on a sheer cliff, stonemasons had surrounded the castle’s edge with rows upon rows of barriers, complete with viewing benches and flowerbeds between armed watchtowers. Emil had been told he was not to go into the watchtowers without good reason, but he found the sitting areas satisfactory and did so, anyway, from time to time. Here, he sat beside his pet at a spot directly looking out to the open waters. Gulls shrieked overhead using the updrafts of the afternoon to lift them airborne. Along the sides, flowers of dainty yellows, blues, pinks, and whites dotted the hard soil like playful candies. Only so many species could grow in the harsh lands of Crodinia, especially here where the sun occasionally shone. They were still pretty, the prince thought. He stared ahead across the sea. One could make out sandbars and protruding rocks out yonder. From his peripheral, he saw Leon blankly staring out, as well. Smiling, he filled the time with some words.

“I’ve read that the edge of the old empire looked to the easterly ocean,” he said to his pet whilst looking on. “All oceans and seas connect, so the charters say. Maybe something about this place reminds you of home?” He looked to Leon for a reply, but the question was deaf of meaning on his ears. “I’d like to hear about Altorien one day. It must have been very different from what you’re used to seeing.”

Leon let out a long soft yawn. All the snacks and the sea breeze must have been making him tired, his master thought. Emil petted his hair. “We can go to the study,” he suggested. “I need to catch up on my reading, and you can nap.” He lifted his pet’s bowing chin with his fingertips and stood. Leon followed.

Before they reached the main castle, hunting bugles bellowed above the walls. The kings had returned.

“Everyone’s back,” the prince said. “We should go meet them first.” He took Leon’s hand and pulled him to the stables where the hunters would undoubtedly dismount. When they arrived, squires and assistants were unloading weapons and saddles from unmounted steeds. Of them, Emil recognized Lukas and Mathias’ horses. He scanned the rest of the mounts and saw blood staining the hindquarters of a painted mare. He would have gasped had he not seen that she was unharmed. There must have been a kill, he realized.

“Emil!” A voice called to the prince, and he spun around. It was Mathias. “Hey, friend, didja see the stag we took down?”

“No. So we’re having stag tonight?” 

“Sure are,” the king widely smiled. “Oh, but I was lying. I didn’t take down anything. It was Elizabeta and Gilbert.”

“Both of them? Did anyone win any bets, then?”

Mathias removed his cape that was steaming from his body heat. He used it to wipe away the sweat from his forehead and threw it over his shoulder. “Tim bet on both o’ them killing something. He ended up with the winnings. Again.” He laughed. It was no surprise, being blessed by The Bountiful. “You shoulda seen Elizabeta and Gilbert’s faces when they lost their own bets. Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”

“I guess,” the prince echoed. He thought it a good time to introduce his pet now that he knew Mathias was in a light mood. “Mathias, have you met Lukas’ gift to me, yet?”

“Hmm?” The king peered over his brother-in-law’s shoulder to see a dark-haired figure standing behind him. He was every bit a shadow to the prince as Lukas was to Mathias. “Well now,” his voice calmed down, “he really is Altorienese, isn’t he?”

Emil shuffled, knowing the king’s role during the Sunset War. “Is that alright? I mean, he won’t be a bother at the castle, will he?”

“No, I don’t think so. Lukas gave’m to you an’ all.” Mathias looked at him with curiosity and fascination, like a child might a new toy. “Huh. Didja give ‘im a name?”

“Leon,” Emil answered.

“Tabrinnish,” Lukas said. He walked over to the two of them, his wavy golden hair matted to his sweat-soaked skin. He bore a temperature cooler than a normal person, yet he, too, had felt the heat of the hunt. “Interesting choice of name. Your pet looks well today,” he said after examining him. “I take it you ordered new clothes for him?”

“I did,” the prince nodded. “I thought red and black suited him.”

His brother approved. “Good. Violet isn’t his color.” He stopped to fix Emil’s hair, muttering the usual criticisms for its stubbornness.

A soft voice bubbled from the prince’s scrunched lips. “Not here, please? Everyone’s looking.”

“They aren’t,” Lukas insisted. “Besides, it would be worse for Their Majesties to see your hair unkempt than to see me trying to fix it.” He combed the side with his slender fingers until the knots came undone. “There, all done.”

Emil begrudgingly thanked his brother, wondering if anyone had seen the humiliating scene. Mathias meanwhile had diverted his attention to Tim and Allistor who were retelling stories of past hunts. The kings were laughing back into the castle, no doubt to have a round of drinks before dinner.

Lukas announced his retreat into his chambers to wash. Two days and a night’s worth of camping and riding had no doubt been enough to soil his body and clothes. For one wed to the king of Crodinia, that would not do. “I’ll see you later, little brother,” he called to him as he left.

And that was that. The other kings had departed and the remaining squires and stewards were tending horses, unloading supplies, or moving around the prince and his pet. None paid any heed to him, save to excuse themselves when getting in the way.

Emil took Leon’s wrist and led him in the direction of the study hall. If everyone was going to leave him alone, then he would live his life alone. So be it, he thought. There were no troubles, no drama. Just him. And Leon.

“Now we can go back to doing our thing.”

The prince longed for the day when he might converse with his pet. As it was now, his pet was as good as a deaf-mute. It should have mattered not if Leon was to obey his master on every whim, the prince supposed, but having to go on his own suggestions and opinions felt about as natural as having perfect hair. He would have liked _some_ feedback.

As Leon said nothing, they took their first steps when someone new called to them. “Gilbert? Gilbert, what are you still doing here?”

A woman’s voice. The prince reeled and saw what appeared to be a mad banshee covered in blood marching towards him. He would have screamed had he not recognized Elizabeta’s face at the last moment.

“Oh.” Her intense emerald gaze softened to a spring green. “Emil, I’m sorry, I thought you were Gilbert. It’s not every day someone has the same color of hair as that oaf, no offense.”

“None taken, Your Grace.” Kingly titles aside, each kingdom had different ways of addressing their royalty. Some like Allistor preferred not using a formal honorific at all, while others like Gilbert insisted that his full epithet be used to address him—not that anyone wanted to comply with “His Awesome Majesty, the Crimson King of the Grand House of Beilschmidt.”

Elizabeta clicked her tongue. “Still, I feel awful for the mistake. You’re positively adorable, Emil. Why, if I could, I’d take you home with me—if only your brother wasn’t so overprotective.” She reached out a hand whose sleeve was caked with dried blood, possibly that of the stag she had felled. Her mouse-colored hair was soiled with dirt and flecks of red and flesh, and a sickly sour-sweet smell of sweat and perfume rolled into the prince's nostrils. He stiffened to stone as she graced her fingers through his hair. She was not an ill-meaning person, the prince could tell, but her unfamiliarity rendered him frightened and immobile.

“The two of you are nothing alike,” the Thursaunian queen continued. “I wish more boys were like you.”

 _Boy_ , the prince thought. He was not a boy; he was a man. So why, then, could he not correct her?

Just then, a flash of cloth shot out and swatted away the queen’s hand. Leon had wedged his way between them. The prince gasped when he realized what had happened.

“Lizzy?”

Speak of the ill gods. Gilbert was marching full force at Leon. He saw, the prince feared. He must have. When the king reached the standstill party, he seized ahold of Leon by the collar of his tunic and lifted him off the ground with a single hand.

“Altorienese scum, what do you think you’re doing laying a hand on a queen?” he snarled in native Dotriban. “Where I come from, we cut off the tongues of those who so much as speak against royalty. Shall I chop off your hand, then?” He brandished a knife from his belt—Azielan steel from the way it sung unsheathed.

“No!” Emil cried despite himself.

Gilbert dropped his furious red gaze to the prince. He had never looked this way before. All those instances of him being annoyed and boastful was nothing compared to the fiery emotions he was expressing now. There was bloodlust in his eyes.

“What did you say?”

Emil’s lips trembled. He had nothing; he was nothing. His status, his power, his knowledge, everything was overshadowed by the one they called the Crimson King. But he saw Leon, helpless Leon who had been cold and hungry and afraid. To what end did he have to continue suffering? It was not fair.

“I-I…he’s mine.” Clumsily as a weak trickle, the words poured from the prince’s mouth. He could not think as he spoke, and the words fumbled without grace. “He’s my brother’s…gift to me. He’s still new to Crodinia and to me. It’s my job to punish him if he’s done something wrong. I’m deeply sorry on his behalf.”

Gilbert was not satisfied, nor did he ever seem he would be. He threw Leon down as a child would a rag doll and stormed over to meet the prince face to face. “You think a silly ‘Sorry’ is going to cut it with me, _Steilsson?_ ” The prince’s heart skipped a beat at his surname. Gilbert had uttered it with such hatred that it made his stomach writhe. “It’s always as simple as an apology with your lot, isn’t it? And you think people will forget what you are.” He jabbed a finger into his chest. He met with bone, cutting into the prince’s ribs and sending him stepping backwards as a weakling would to a bully. That is what Gilbert was, the prince bitterly thought, a bully.

Out of nowhere, a fist came flying down on the king’s silver head. “Gilbert, that’s enough!” Elizabeta snapped. “You’re scaring them, can’t you see?”

The Dotriban cursed but did not yell as before. “He hit you…” he muttered.

Elizabeta crossed her arms in a huff. “And I hit _you_. Does that mean _my_ hand gets chopped off?”

“No…” the king painfully grunted. He picked himself up and faced the shaking prince once more. He glared a moment at him and looked to the boy he had discarded. “What in God’s name is an Altorienese doing on your grounds?”

“A-Again, he is mine,” the prince’s voice shook when he spoke. “He is my pet.”

Gilbert was unimpressed. “Pet,” he echoed with distaste. “So that’s what you call them in this kingdom?”

No, the prince thought. Leon was special. He was his, and that made him more than just accessorized property. He wished to tell the king with all his heart that he never knew mental isolation and self-loathing like he did. He would never understand what it was like to be him. Never.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Cool and calm, Lukas’ very presence seemed to soothe the atmosphere. His hair and skin were still matted with sweat, but he had changed out of his sweaty brown and green hunting garb and had replaced them with regal blacks and midnight blues. His expression was as subtle as ever, and he glided effortlessly across the cold Crodinian tungrass as a swan might over the water’s surface.

Elizabeta spoke up before Gilbert could get his piece in. “Nothing more than a little misstep, Your Majesty. I was out of line. I didn’t mean to give your brother a fright.”

The prince would have protested that she had not frightened him, but she had. And Leon had stepped in to save him from her. _And_ Lukas, by some miraculous bond of brotherhood, was here to save both of them.

“That’s not what I saw,” Gilbert butted in. He pointed a sharp finger at Leon. “That thing struck her hand, a _queen_. That sort of activity is punishable by death where I rule.”

Lukas’ face was void of emotion, but he spoke in Dotriban, Emil noted. “It may be a fair punishment in your kingdom, but we are not in Dotriba—not that you would need reminding. However, if what you say is true, then I will punish those responsible accordingly.”

Elizabeta rolled her eyes. “Please, tell me you men don’t think I’m so helpless and offended that I need you to carry out a punishment for my sake.” 

“Far from it, Your Grace,” Lukas evenly smiled in a thin line. “But as Crodinians, we believe in discipline where it’s due.”

 _Not that,_ Emil thought with a knot in his gut. He hated the punishments. Because he was the prince, someone else was always there to take the blunt end of his failures and missteps. He had a strong idea of who would be taking it this time.

“Emil, here,” Lukas beckoned him.

The prince called Leon to his side as he went to his brother. He took his pet’s head in his hand and forced it down into a bow. “We’re deeply sorry. Please find it in yourself to forgive us.” Taking care to speak in Dotriban like his brother, the words tasted foul on his tongue knowing of how Gilbert took his last apology.

As expected, the Crimson King was unimpressed. “What am I supposed to do with this? If it were up to me, I’d sooner throw you in a barrel of glass than hear more words. Knowing you, Steilsson, you could sur—”

“You’re such a child,” Elizabeta sighed in Thursaunian, again rolling her eyes. “I’ll accept your apology on both our behalves.”

“I’m afraid I won’t allow you to throw my brother or his dear pet into a glass-filled barrel,” Lukas said with a smile of stone, “but if you desire that severity of punishment, then I’ll carry it out in my own way.”

The Dotriban would have said more if not for Elizabeta seizing his collar and holding him back. “You’re making a scene, idiot. Get this over with so we can wash up and eat.”

“Accepted…” Gilbert begrudgingly uttered in Crodinian through a bloated face as the queen forced him into a headlock. There was a definite familiarity between the two, even more blatant when not in front of a public audience, but then, they had grown up together as children being from neighboring kingdoms.

“Finally,” Elizabeta said, still holding onto the proclaimed Awesome Majesty the Crimson King of the Grand House of Beilschmidt. “The sooner we eat dinner, the sooner I can beat you home.” She led him away, quickly and without flair. Even when they were out of sight, they could still be heard squabbling like the childhood rivals they had been.

At last, the prince could breathe a little. He released his hold on Leon and softly apologized before facing his brother. As he looked into his eyes, he could see the lightless blue staring back at him.

“You disappointed me,” was all Lukas needed to say.

The tears that had dammed themselves from the beginning now flooded the prince’s eyes. His vision blurred in a stream of salt that poured without remorse down his cheeks and onto his cape. “I’m sorry…” It was all he could ever say. Sorry and move on. Sorry and forgive. There was much forgiving.

He felt a light hand weigh atop his head. “Shh,” his brother quietly whispered. “You know why this happened, right?”

“I…” The prince paused to sniff. “I wasn’t able to control my pet.”

He heard nothing for a moment. Lukas stared long and hard at his gift before kissing his brother’s forehead. “That’s not why you’re crying, is it?”

No. No, it was not. Lukas always knew. They pulled each other close and embraced. Cold as they were on the surface, they harbored natural warmth, Emil slightly more so than his brother.

In the end, the prince was sentenced to washing duty. From evening to dawn, what plates, goblets, bowls, and silverware passed through the dining hall were to be washed by him and him only, per Lukas’ instructions. When Gilbert had caught wind of that, he had been sure to use a new plate for every new scrap of food he would eat before setting off in the morrow. Lukas had told his brother as such when passing through before setting off to bed.

 _Stupid king, that just makes it easier for me to clean each plate,_ thought the prince. He stacked another wet but gleaming silver platter atop a pile. Servants came to collect and store the dishes when they were piled too high. Oodles of scraps, slurries of spirits and soup, and discarded bones were thrown down a chute. From what he recalled, the chute led to an underground cart that carried the rubbish to oversized pits that were filled when full. Farmers then tilled the soil until the earth supposedly became rich with supplements for crops.

“Anima magic does little to help the soil,” a sage had explained to the prince. “It is the blessings of The Arcane and The Bountiful that gives us our powers, but Mother Nature is another matter. You cannot take from the earth without giving; it’s the same with being unable to create life from nothing. You cannot force the earth to grow for you. That takes its own kind of magic.”

 _Perhaps I shall be a farmer or shepherd in the next life,_ the prince mused. He could do away with the castle lifestyle and have plants and sheep for friends. Even if he would give crops or livestock away, there would be more to replace them in the coming year. He would never be alone or bored or weak. On that, he wished he did not have to be contained in the castle. The Sunset War was over; he could live peacefully anywhere in Crodinia now, possibly not even his birthing kingdom. He could sail across the Sea of R’as and settle down in the drenched islands of Tabrini or marvel at the serene wonders of Thursaunia. If he was bolder, he might travel to Arbren and trade his world of ice and oceans for a land of sand and sun. No more reading about politics, no more flattering nobles.

 _But how will I get there?_ He dipped a goblet into gray water. Suds were still afloat, but the water had gone cold from the long hours. He moved the cup through the parting ripples as one would a toy ship. He could sail there, was one answer. Mathias knew how to command ships and sail them. He could teach him. _And where would he find the time?_

He knew the answer. _Never._ It was childish to think of what could have been or what could be. He was an adult. He dropped the thought, wiped the inside of the goblet, and shook it out to dry. His pale fingers were soaked and wrinkled, and his entire body was wet and miserable. Better this than mangled from sharp glass, but this was no life for a prince. Even if not a good one, he was a prince in this lifetime, not a farmer or shepherd. If he was to be brother-in-law to the king of Crodinia, he wanted to be a better one, like Mathias before he had been crowned. He would need wit, strength, loyalty, and honor.

 _Jeckt, ruum, raed, nohd,_ the merits of Crodinia in his native tongue. Funny how there were four merits but five provinces that made up the kingdom. Perhaps it was because the central province of Merctun was the figurehead of the crown. He was not entirely certain. What he _was_ certain of was that he would not find good practice in the Crodinian merits from washing dishes. Merits came in forgiveness and discipline. He would forgive himself and Leon for stepping out of line today, and then he would teach his pet why what he did was wrong. If he could teach this to his pet, someone who could not grasp the entirety of the Crodinian tongue and customs, then surely he could carry himself out to any subject. Yes, he thought. His pet was a good place to start.

When finished, the prince’s hands were swollen with water and tremoring from the labor. He tried to ball his hands into fists to test the nerves, but they would not close without numbing. It would not matter in the end, however. There were more important things to think about. First thing was first, he had to see his brother. “Come to me when you’re done,” Lukas had said, and so the prince went around asking the guards and stewards where he might find Crodinia’s Shadow.

Lukas commonly bathed after dinner when socializing and hearings had made him weary. Mathias must have been with the other kings, as it was just him enveloped in steam and oils. He was washing his milk-colored skin with a sponge. The prince noticed his brother’s fair dandelion hair fell down his eyes, unrestrained of his hairpin. The only times Lukas was ever seen without his hairpin was when he bathed or slept, and with good reason: the Crodinian Cross was the royal family heirloom passed down through generations of Mathias’ family, given only to the king’s betrothed.

The prince remembered when his brother had first accepted Mathias’ proposal with surprise and confusion. He had grown used to seeing his brother’s accessory as a complete picture of his image. Lukas wore the Crodinian Cross with silent pride and dedication to his kingdom and his king, undoubtedly as his most prized possession—his brother and husband aside, of course.

The prince sat at the edge of the bathing pool beside his brother’s hairpin as he dipped his bare feet into the herbal water. “I finished washing everything. The cooks closed the kitchen. Everything should be nearly put away for tomorrow.”

Lukas waded from the center to his brother. He took his hands and examined them. “So you did,” he noted by the wrinkles and sores on the prince’s normally dainty fingers. He took his sponge and dabbed his brother’s skin with a delicate touch. Once finished, he massaged his palms and looked up to Emil’s tired eyes. “You could’ve easily healed these.”

“I know.”

“But you didn’t.”

“They’ll heal in a little bit, and this was my doing. I should have to pay for it.” The prince swallowed. “A few blisters and wrinkles are nothing compared to what the Crimson King sentenced.”

“How responsible of you,” Lukas chuckled. “And the cut on your finger was _not_ your doing?” The prince sharply pulled his hands to his chest. The gods be damned, of course Lukas would notice something so trivial. “Emil,” Lukas pried, “what happened?”

“I…” His gaze faltered. By habit, his hands went to his ring and fiddled with the cold metal. “I cut myself while using the knife Mathias gave me.”

“Hmm. Azielan steel will do that to you. You weren’t doing anything reckless, were you? No bleeding?”

“Whittling,” the prince hesitated to say. “No bleeding.” He should have been doing something safer and more productive this afternoon, but it was futile to lie to the Shadow.

Fortunately, Lukas seemed satisfied with the answer and started sponging his brother’s foot. “I take it you won’t be careless with Azielan steel again,” he smiled.

“I won’t.” That was a promise.

“That’s good. I was afraid it had something to do with my gift.” He switched feet. “Do you like your pet?”

“I do,” the prince replied, trying to hide a smile, as it might seem as though today’s mishap was a lighthearted issue. “I’m still trying to teach him. He’s picked up a few phrases, maybe just not all of the customs…” His fists balled, hurt as they did. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t think Leon would do that. I was scared. If I said something, he might not have acted the way he did.”

“Mist on the breeze,” Lukas dismissed. “What matters is that it doesn’t happen again. As much as I love you and act on Mathias’ ideals, I can’t always protect you.” He took a deep breath and stopped washing. “It’s not what you need to hear, Emil.”

“But it’s what I have to.” Lukas said nothing to that. “Lukas? Why did you give me a pet?”

The Shadow wore a smooth smile like silk. His unclipped hair fell over his dark blue eyes and concealed an emotion the prince had not quite learned to read. “I’ve doted on you all these years; it’s time you learn to dote on someone of your own. Appointing you a playmate wouldn’t have the same effect as someone you have to completely manage. Think of it as a tool to reflect on your own upbringing.”

“As in how I turned out?” the prince wearily asked.

“Emil,” Lukas’ voice was tired, a result of today’s hunt, of having to keep Gilbert under temper, and of bearing witness to his brother’s long ordeal and his own, “I shouldn’t have to remind you that it’s not your fault.” He watched his brother’s ring twist and turn with sad eyes. Emil was silent. He did not need reminding, it was true, though he often felt he needed to hear the words aloud. “This is just another lesson. I’ve made several mistakes. Mathias, too. Bondeviks, Køhlers, and Steilssons, alike, have made blunders. You’re not any different.”

“But I am,” the prince insisted. He knew was childish of him to think himself so unique a case. Considering the state of his ancestors, his treatment and acceptance was far better than theirs. Still, he was not like everyone else. He had a sliver of a chance to be normal if only he could learn to control himself.

“Alright,” Lukas agreed, “you’re different, but that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. Did a kingdom declare war on us?”

“No.”

“And did anyone die?”

“…No.”

“Is anyone hurt?”

 _My pride_ , the prince wanted to say, yet he repeated his previous iterations.

“There. Now as for your situation with…Leon, is it? He is your pet for a reason. I won’t deny that part of the reason I gave him to you is because I can’t entertain you anymore. You’re sixteen. You can manage on your own, but with being a prince—and it doesn’t matter if you’re a Steilsson or not—you have to manage yourself in the company of others. I’ve let you confine yourself to the luxury of private tutors and personal servants, however if you are going to represent yourself and us, you need to be able to handle the most basic fundamentals of interactions.

“Your Leon is a pet, yes. He is under your care, but he’s still human. He has a personality, desires, cognition. The way I see it, how he turns out will be a reflection of you as a person. Raise him or train him however you like; I could care less so as long as he doesn’t hurt you.”

“Why Altorienese?” the prince had to ask.

“The Altorienese language is so distinctly different from Eliathan roots that he will be unable to understand your speech unless you teach him so,” Lukas explained. “I intended for him to be more—maybe ‘primal’ isn’t the best word—challenging, more like, for you to see him as a pet over a servant.”

The prince clasped his hands. “I’ve been teaching Leon a few phrases, actually. I’d like him to be able to hold conversations with me some day.” Lukas merely smiled hearing that. “Where is he, by the way?”

“Outside,” came a vague answer. “I’ll tell you at dawn. It’s far too late and cold to fetch him now.” Lukas cupped his hand around his brother’s jawline. “Why don’t you join me?” he offered. “You’re tired and must’ve caught kitchen grease in your robes. It’s been a long day for you, too.”

It was tempting, the prince thought, but his thoughts wandered to recollections of when he had used to bathe with Lukas and Mathias as children. His brother and the king were wed now, and he had aged into adulthood. “I’ll bathe later, brother,” he declined. “I’m afraid you’ll end up washing me.”

“Hah, you caught me,” Lukas playfully teased. He poured a stream of water down his slender neck. “Try not to stay up too late. We may have to send off the Dotribans and Thursaunians in the morning.”

The prince rose and dried his feet and hands with one of the many cloths folded on a rack. “What about the Belethrenics and Tabrinnish?” he asked.

“It slipped my mind,” Lukas responded without expression. “The Belethrenics left this evening.”

“What?” The prince stopped. “No one told me.”

“Tim was stubborn about it,” his brother sighed. “He said he had to be back by the week’s end to oversee summer shipments. Mathias understood.” It was common knowledge that the Tulip King held high value in the economic wellbeing of Belethren. The prince was astonished when he had learned that Tim would even be personally attending his birthday celebration, since he had a strong motto that “time was money.” Apparently he had wasted enough of both, so off he had went back to his home to manage his affairs.

“I wouldn’t worry, Emil. He’s always like that,” Lukas remarked. “If you feel strongly about not sending him off, you could always send him a letter.”

The prince took it into consideration. It would be a good opportunity for him to practice his penmanship. “I’ll be off now, Lukas,” he said. Before departing, his thoughts went to his absent pet. Already he was starting to feel that a part of him was missing from his side. “Is Leon alright?”

His brother’s eyes were soft and staring. Sometimes they were as warm as a loving embrace, other times they were cold and distant like the Sar’ph Mountains. What the prince saw was a discomforting combination of assurance and detachment, yet when Lukas spoke, his voice was so sweet and convincing. “Rest assured, Emil, I won’t have harm come to your pet unless he’s done something to hurt you directly. The guards are watching over him while he’s working on his punishment. I’ll tell you where to find him after you’re done with breakfast tomorrow.”

The prince would have pried more, but he was too exhausted to satiate his curiosity. He thought he would go immediately to bed, never minding the grease staining his clothes and skin. The servants would change his sheets without question, and he could enjoy a better deserved bath with his pet the next day.

If his brother was going to grant him the honor of doting on someone of his own, he might as well do just that, the prince thought. He bid his brother good night and headed for his chambers. He stopped by a handful of guards and stewards on his way and even stumbled across the chance of wishing Mathias off before reaching his bedroom. Heavy with fatigue, he fell upon his bed immediately and could not be bothered to turn on his crystal lamp. He was fast asleep before the minute was up.


	3. His Brace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince's pet goes through and recovers from his punishment while the rest of the kingdom prepares for the Red Summer.

Mathias pointed out his brother-in-law’s grogginess when he greeted him at breakfast time. More startled than embarrassed, the prince asked for a pint of sharp ale and snap root to dispel his sleep-induced state. It was near impossible to tell when the king was paying attention: one moment, he could read the mood completely and know exactly what to say to keep everyone’s spirits up, and during others, the most obvious of details flew over his head like a stray arrow. Lukas often remarked it was the latter, but the king managed well enough as he was.

“How’s yer pet workin’ out for you so far, Emil?” Mathias asked during rounds of meats. He failed to notice his husband rolling his eyes at his tactlessness. Surely he had been informed of what had happened yesterday, the prince thought.

“I’m still trying to train him,” Emil said with care. Far down the table were the three kings of Dotriba chatting in their own tongue. Elizabeta was speaking with her husband from another table, glaring the occasional dagger at the trio. The prince had been positive at least Gilbert would have had something to say to him today, but the three had paid little attention to him since daybreak. For that, the prince was grateful.

Mathias’ mouth was full of bread and his hand with a mug of ale. “You gonna feaf—Leon, was it—how t’ figh' in ve pifs?” It was common for generals and lords to enter rankmen and pets into the tourneys during the Red Summer. The strongest and fittest contestants were registered to compete for the mere entertainment of sport. As they were not servants, such combatants were not paid; as they were not slaves, they were not promised freedom. They were partial companions bound by duty and ownership like obligated beasts. A lord had once told the prince it was no different than hounds raised for hunting or birds raised for show.

Altorienese had been entered into tourneys the year following the Sunset War’s end, their particular traits making them wild cards in the pits. It was always stunning to see what sorts of arts or—if they were fel’n—transformations they could utilize. The prince’s first time seeing them in combat had been but two years ago, yet when he had witnessed them fighting, even knowing it was for sport and not for their lives, he had not been able to fathom how their empire had fallen to his kingdom and its allies. The Altorienese were fluid and fierce at the same time, with great restraint and skill against one or multiple foes, and while it was enforced that no killing take place during the tourneys, the prince could hardly stomach the sight of violence and beatings that had taken place.

“I was hoping to have Leon solely as a companion,” the prince said after little thought. “He’s there to keep my responsibilities in check, sort of like how you and Lukas are for me.”

The king swallowed down his food and shrugged. “He’s yers to raise how you want. Didja ever find out if he was fel’n?”

The ring around the prince’s finger felt tight all of a sudden. He gave it a modest twist. “I don’t think Lukas would’ve given me someone like that, but no. I don’t know.”

“You should find out,” Mathias said in a low voice, understandably so. He had seen his fair share of the beasts during the war. “It’s not gonna be good if he changes out of nowhere.”

The prince put this into consideration, but he was confident in his brother’s choice of gift. “I’ll look into it as soon as I retrieve him.”

The king searched the tables. “He’s not with you?”

“Lukas didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” the king blankly stared.

That gave the prince pause. Lukas of all people should have told him about what had happened. It was not just Leon’s actions that reflected badly on the prince; the prince’s failure to keep his pet in control reflected badly on Crodinia’s authority. He would have thought Lukas would have informed his husband of the matter straight away.

“Typical. You already forgot,” came a low but exasperated voice. From Mathias’ right, the Shadow was poking at a bundle of greased sausages on his plate. “I told you about how Emil’s pet struck the Elizabeta and resisted Gilbert yesterday after our hunt. In your defense, he was trying to protect you, right, Emil?”

“Y-Yes…” the prince admitted in shame.

Mathias grinned absentmindedly. “Oh right, that. You didn’t kill him, didja, Lukas?”

The prince’s heart sank like a stone.

Lukas hissed, “You crass dolt, of course not. No, he’s doing some cleanup.” He leaned from his husband’s side to see his brother. “Did you hear that, Emil? Your pet is alive. He’s cleaning at the soiling pits.”

“I heard,” the prince answered but with a squeak to his voice. He was not hungry anymore, and his brother _had_ said he would be allowed to collect his pet after breakfast. He excused himself from the table and called for an escort to take him to the soiling pits. They were far away from the living quarters at the very edge of the castle’s grounds, so with some luck, he would not have to send off the last majesties by his return.

The soiling pits were where the most menial of magical practices took place. The earth had been deemed unusable from long years of crop turning and tilling, until time had transformed the ground to black stone. It was perfect for novice mages to practice arcane and anima magics, there being no persons or crops to affect, but cleanup was often needed for whatever activities conspired there. The prince traveled through rolls of ashes and rubble where the dirt mixed with charred remains. Divots bore unleveled surfaces and grew deepest where the oldest properties laid. Two guards stood watch over a trembling boy with hair slick and sticky, steaming from the heat of his labor as he slammed shovels of ashes into a collecting hole.

“Leon,” Emil called to his pet and watched him turn in recognition. He had not known what form of punishment his brother had directed to him, but seeing his pet’s pitiful state made him wish he had the authority to make him stop.

“He’s got three more to go, Prince Emil,” one of the guards said, bored and tired judging from the droll in his tone. “Then you’ll have him back, the Shadow said.”

He soon learned what the three things were. Encased in what looked like obsidian were three jagged amalgamations of blackish purple crystals frozen in fearful stances. The prince had seen his brother practice dark ice enough times to know his magic by its abyssal shade. The figures had been people once, but no more.

Leon had been given a generous assortment of tools: pickaxes, chisels, shovels, axes, and hammers. Several lay dulled and broken in a pile, the result of chipping away at the amassed blend of advanced magics. The prince had scarcely tested the hardness of dark ice, himself, but he was not unfamiliar with its durability; its properties were that of freezing light and entirely capable of rendering foes immobile. The Shadow possessed great accuracy with his art, or else his unfortunate victims would not have appeared so recognizable in shape.

A deafening shatter rang through the biting air as one of three remaining figures exploded in purples and blacks. Where blood and flesh had stood now burst apart in a hundred crystals. The magic was so fine that it pierced right through skin and bone until most physiological components were untraceable.

Emil watched on for the next two hours as his pet struggled to chip and chisel at the larger pieces. He broke them up with axes and hammers—more than one on occasion—and ground the remnants to fine powder to be scattered into the soiling pits with the rest of the inorganic matter. The guards stood vigilant, yet from their fraying leans, they were not subtle in their boredom.

At long last, the final shovel of powder and crystal dipped into the pits, and Leon collapsed wholeheartedly from exhaustion. Emil gasped his pet’s name, flying to his side before the guards could call him away. He ordered a stretcher be brought to him, and one of the men took his eager leave. Meanwhile, he pulled back his pet’s sleeves and found them shaking and coated with a cold sweat.

“You’ll be alright, Leon,” he tried to reassure him. “The healers will take care of the rest.” Golden pools desperately looked to Emil. The boy looked entirely defeated. He could not speak or lift his head. Emil gave him some comfort in holding his hand.

Two apothecaries arrived accompanying the guard not long after. They lifted the Altorienese onto the cloth and rushed him away. Emil followed them, not before telling the guards to send word to his brother that Leon’s punishment was complete. At the infirmary, he watched the apothecaries place his pet onto a cot, wipe his forehead with a damp cloth, and give him potions and fluids before he rested. The head physician came with ointments and an assortment of dried herbs. She set to work mixing pastes and leaves together, which she smeared over the bulk of Leon’s limbs. “Well, then," she said, "this shouldn’t be too much of an issue. He looks to have overworked his body is all. Nothing a few days of rest won’t fix.”

Emil bade his pet a quick recovery before leaving, as he would have to rest in the infirmary for the time being. He then wondered if the royal guests were still here. It was a good week’s ride from the central Crodinian province of Merctun to the borders of Dotriba, and each of the three kings took rule in the far reaches of the unity. Farther still was Thursaunia’s capital, bearing southerly beyond the kingdom of Bävmek. As there was a truce, Thursuanians were allowed to pass through the unity, however after that, it was a good two weeks of a ride by carriage. Only seasoned messengers were known to travel from Thursuania to Crodinia in less than a week, as far as the prince knew.

 _I could probably soar to Arbren in a single day if were a winged fel’n,_ he fantasized. He wondered if that was how the Altorienese had spread across such an expansive empire. Communication was key in running a kingdom, and if there were fel’n that could make the journey quicker, then they might have utilized those abilities.

When he returned to the dining hall, it was nearly empty. Breakfast had long since passed, and all that remained were a handful of cleaning servants. He inquired to one of his brother’s whereabouts, and they pointed him in the direction of the cliffside. The prince went there and found a rather stiff Lukas beside his husband. Mathias had his arm around his shoulder. Though it was known that they were married, it was not often when they physically expressed affection in the public eye.

“Lukas, Mathias,” the prince called out to them, “I was looking for you.”

They turned with a start. Both looked troubled, Lukas more than Mathias with his tense eyes and stance.

“Emil,” Mathias said with a plain look, “hey, you found Leon?”

“I did.” The prince studied the two. “…Is something the matter?”

The king shook his head and approached him. “No, Emil, nothing—”

“There _is,_ ” Lukas suddenly spat, his eyes averted to keep from frightening his brother. There was such animosity in his voice that the prince thought it was directed at him. “That insufferable pox, I hope he never comes here again on any regard.”

Mathias’ eyes softened. “Lukas—” His husband ignored and walked past him, holding his brother as tightly as he could.

“They cannot make you, Emil,” Lukas fiercely whispered, a tremor in his voice. “I will not let them.”

The prince looked to Mathias for answers. “What happened?”

The king’s usually sky blue eyes wore a sullen shade of summer fog. His voice grew quiet as he spoke. “The Unity kings—well, Gilbert more than the other two—wanted to see _that_.”

Emil’s throat filled with bile. He knew what Mathias was talking about. Such rash idiocy. Had they seen it, they would have never wanted to. He clenched his fists and felt the metal of his ring. “Why would they?”

“Doubt, arrogance, ignorance,” the Shadow answered, pulling away and looking deep into his brother’s eyes. “They do not know, but they know enough that you could be a threat. And they want to see if we’re so foolish as to house you here.” His cool-colored sapphire eyes were burning. “It's because you are my brother and because I am married to Mathias. But if you were to prove you could control yourself…” He stopped. His already pale skin was drained of color, if that were possible. His sharp nails dug into his brother’s shoulders, and while he did not mean him harm, it was painful to support him.

“Lukas,” Mathias noticed, “you’re hurting him.”

He released his hold and swiftly apologized. “I’m sorry, Emil. I didn’t mean to. I find it disgusting. It’s irredeemable that they would come all this way to ask that of you. Well don’t worry. They’re gone now. We’ve sent them off.”

The prince was not wholly convinced. Before the truce had been established, the Unity of Dotriba had already been known as a militaristic society. The people valued and were loyal to power and founded truth, so unlike Crodinia whose rulers long built themselves on chivalry and the exploration of magics. If they saw no strength in Crodinia, they would have no fears in walking all over their laws. “Mathias, they’ll come back, won’t they?”

“I wouldn’t lose sleep over it, Emil,” the king assured him. “They don’t gain anything. It’s not like they can control you if you don’t have control of yourself.”

Lukas leered at his husband for his thoughtlessness.

“Sorry,” Mathias apologized with an uncharacteristically glum expression. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

“No,” the prince lowered his eyes. “If I had control of myself, then they would have every right to be afraid of us. They'd respect us. We would be strong—stronger than Tabrini.”

“We’re not looking to powermonger, Emil,” Lukas reminded him, a hint at the Sunset War. The entire point of the kingdoms uniting was to stamp out such a growing influence. There was no need to repeat another series of battles for the same reason.

“Right…I’m sorry.” He dryly swallowed. He was doing it again, emptily apologizing on behalf of a bloodline he had never chosen to bear.

The two people he admired in his life looked at him with pitying eyes. They both had borne witness to the last calamity before the Sunset War had taken place. Even as a child, the damage and fear had been so great that Mathias’ father had made him promise never to mingle with the commoners and royal servants so freely again. Yet, as Lukas was Emil’s brother and Mathias the king, they were not permitted to forget—they could not even if they had tried. They shouldered the warnings and memories just like those before them, and while the cursed blood of the Steilssons was not a total secret, few knew of how catastrophic its unleashed powers truly were.

“You shouldn’t be sorry, Emil,” Lukas sighed with a heavy heart.

But the prince was, and he suspected he always would be.

“Right then!” Mathias exclaimed so suddenly that his companions jumped. “Now that everyone’s gone, we have the castle to ourselves again! We’ve got the Red Summer to prepare for!”

“E-Everyone?” The prince had hoped it so, but he did not think the rest of the kings would leave without some word to him, his birthday party being the one they had attended, after all.

“Well, Allistor and his men are still here for a little longer, but the Dotribans left not long before your arrival,” Lukas elaborated. “Roderich and Elizabeta were apparently racing against Gilbert back to central Dotriba. They were given a ‘head start.’ So they’re gone, too.” He looked to his brother in search of closure, but it did not surprise him that he would find their sudden leave so unfulfilling. “Gilbert mouthed off to the others at dinner about what had happened yesterday after the hunt. They know you are a sensitive man, so they thought it was better to leave without consulting you.”

It was better, if the prince was being honest, but he dared not say it aloud. If that was how they conducted themselves, so be it. With mostly everyone gone, he felt he could finally breathe. Once Leon recovered, he would resume his training and studies, only with his companionship beside him.

“Your pet,” Lukas spoke as if knowing the boy was in his brother’s mind, “is he alright, Emil?”

“He’s in the infirmary. The physician said he needed some rest and should be better soon.” The prince pressed his lips together. “Brother, may I speak with you later?”

“You are speaking with me now,” he said as-a-matter-of-factly.

“Yes, but…” He looked warily at Mathias. “…alone. And later when I have my thoughts together.”

His brother smiled and stroked his light hair. “Alright. I’ll be in the study if you want to follow after me.”

“Emil, didja try out the knife I gave ya?” Mathias asked.

The prince blushed. “I started to whittle with it, but I may have cut myself while careless.”

“Oh. That’s fine.” If the king was worried, he did an impeccable job of hiding it. “Just watch yerself next time, alright?”

He smiled. “I will, I promise.”

They parted ways, Lukas heading towards the study and Mathias to his counsel. Now would be a good opportunity to whittle again, actually, the prince thought, seeing as how he had the time. He could clear his thoughts while his pet was resting. However, he had already asked to speak with his brother, and so he set off after him in the direction of the royal study.

The prince found his brother holed up in the geography section. The Shadow was reading through a passage on Tabrini when he saw his brother approaching.

“How are you, little brother?” he greeted him upon closing his text.

“I hope I’m not interrupting…”

“Not at all. I was expecting you. Shall we take a walk outside?” The prince agreed and let his brother take the lead. They strolled to Little Lake that was pleasantly quiet after a majority of the guests had left. There were still castle residents and local visitors, though knowing that they spoke the same language and held the same customs made the prince feel more at ease, compared to as he had been with the foreigners. “So then,” Lukas began, “what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“…Who were those people you made Leon demolish?”

“No one of importance,” his brother stated, which had to have been true. Using such magic on living beings meant absolute death, and the Shadow was known to choose his targets with intent.

“But there must have been some reason why that was his task, then,” the prince insisted, “or you wouldn’t have put him up to it.”

“True,” Lukas acknowledged. “Not just anyone would do.”

 _Not just anyone,_ the prince echoed in his mind. There had always been someone else to bear the crux of his punishments, and in Leon’s case, he had struck a queen and resisted a king. There had to have been some significance. The punishment had to have carried a similar weight of severity. _Not just anyone._ His feet stopped moving. A chill rushed through his bones.

“Brother, what ever became of the Altorienese? The others who were in the dungeon when I first chose my pet? You never told me if they left.”

His brother took notice of him with an unrelenting gaze. “You have good perception.”

Then it became clear. “It was them,” he choked. “They were the ones you…” He could not say it. He dared not think too hard on it. Those eerie corpses encased in dark ice brought forth memories that threatened to surface from years long passed.

“I wouldn’t think of physically harming something of yours,” Lukas said in his twisted defense. “I needed a way to hold weight to the consequences of his actions, and what other way to do so than to hurt those familiar to you?” He graced his brother’s cheek with a slight of his cold finger. “Wouldn’t you agree, Emil?”

“I-I do,” he said with reluctance. His brother’s bloodlust had not subsided after the war, it seemed. His darkness was still hungry. Perhaps it would always be. “My punishment seems so trivial compared to his. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Perhaps not.” Lukas raised his hand to rest it atop his brother’s head. He was but a few coins taller than his brother, yet he often reminded him of their height difference in these small gestures. “But do not forget that you are my brother and a prince by right. What more would I have you do? Burn all your presents and tomes in a bonfire?”

Emil truly would not have wanted that. He had little attachment to living persons aside from his family, so the next thing would have been his collection of knowledge, his window to the outside world. He said nothing to this, but his silence was answer enough for Lukas.

“Fret not, Emil. They weren’t important people. No one will miss them, and if I’m being honest, out of the bunch, your Leon may have been the only redeemable pick.”

“Where did you call them from?”

“Somewhere by the west of the old empire, that their journey may be short.”

 _Short it was,_ the prince thought.

“It was from a post that the army traveled through during the war,” Lukas detailed. “The people there were meek and mild, not strong enough for war, not smart enough to become scholars or political threats. I thought that perhaps the candidates coming from that post would bear the same personalities.” He cracked a smile. “But I suppose there are still those who would break those molds.”

The prince bowed his head. “I’ll train Leon out of it, I promise.”

“You don’t need to promise anything. I gave him to you so you could do with him as you want. No need to worry about me. However, if you think my way of punishing him isn’t suited for him, then by all means take the reins. This will be the last time I use my full participation—unless he hurts you, that is.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” the prince said with a catch in his voice. He was positive his brother had made Leon watch him freeze his companions. With that kind of power, who would want to directly cross the Shadow?

“I trust you,” Lukas smiled. “Was that all you wanted to talk about?”

Emil bit as his lips. He hesitated on whether or not he should ask of _that_ , but there was no use hiding his concern if it was already present. “How are _you_ doing? Are you holding up well?”

His brother’s eyes sparkled for a moment. The atmosphere around him felt to lighten at his concern. “My condition is nothing compared to yours. The urges come and go, but Mathias helps me manage. Rest assured, I’m fine.”

Emil breathed a little easier. “I know you’ve always taken charge of everything, and it doesn’t change with the fact that I’ve become an adult. Still, I’d like you to tell me if anything is troubling you, too.”

“I appreciate it, Emil.” The Shadow chuckled in his soft velvety voice. “You’ve Mother’s kindness, that I know, maybe a little blessing from The Fair in you, too.”

Emil knew the blessing to be a joke, but at the mention of their mother, the prince wondered how she was faring. Both his mother and father had not attended his birthday party, his mother too ill to make the journey and his father wishing to stay at her side. They had sent gifts, nevertheless, but the prince had still hoped they could have personally seen him on his coming of age day.

“You’ve Father’s tongue,” the prince threw back. It was Lukas’ turn to think on that. They shared not the same fathers, but having spent a fraction of his childhood in the Steilsson household, Lukas had picked up traces of sarcasm and wit in his speech.

“Do you wish they were here right now, Emil?”

“I wish Mother was better.” He had not seen her for years. They exchanged letters often enough, but he could only imagine her condition since she had chosen to remain in the west. He never understood it. The physicians and weather were better in Markal than out at the edge of the Blizzarding Seas. Surely if their mother lived in the castle with them, she could recover, and she would always be with her children. She loved them, did she not?

“I pray she will be, too.” Lukas rubbed his brother’s shoulder. As with his stepfather, he had picked up trace gestures of their mother, a compassionate touch being one of them. “You know, with you being old enough to travel on your own, perhaps you might visit her if you’d like.”

The prince had often wanted to propose a visit, but his brother’s words troubled him. _He_ could visit her, not _they_. Since marrying Mathias, Lukas had become fiercely loyal to remaining at his husband’s side. Both had dedicated themselves to running the kingdom, turning the capital into a grand but invisible tether for the prince; he could not go far without his brother’s attendance, and further still, he had grown used to his brother’s company. “Would I be fine on my own?” His brother was the only one strong and familiar enough with him to keep him in check. Though the journey was not terribly long, he could not be certain everything would go without flaw.

“You have your pet,” Lukas said, though from his airy tone, he may have very well been in similar jest.

“He’s Altorienese,” the prince reminded him. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the same if I went without you.”

“I thought you missed your parents.”

“Mother, yes. I can’t say Father misses me.”

Lukas agreed in silence. Sveinn Steilsson was a rigid man with little room for expression. Some rumored that his short happiness lasted in the sliver of time that was his marriage to the then-widowed Gerda Bondevik and the discovery of the cursed blood flowing in his son’s veins. It was known that a Steilsson would eventually be born with their curse, but the prince was well aware of his father’s distance with him as far as he could remember. Perhaps, he thought, his existence was a reminder of the burden their family bore.

No matter the reason, the prince cared not for the affection of his father; he had spent so many years away that he had neither the desire to please nor spite him. He may have held some grudge towards him for passing on the curse to his veins, but that had not been in his control. No sane man would wish for his child to ever carry such a curse. The prince hoped that if he would ever bear descendants, they would thrive for several generations without needing to live in such caution and social isolation.

As they arrived at the far end of Little Lake, Lukas reached above his head and trailed his fingers over the winter willow leaves. They brushed against his fingertips like silver feathers and glimmered with dazzling lights in the afternoon sun. “You were perhaps wondering why I suggested you travel without me,” he said to his brother after some time. “In truth, I feel it’s best I don’t see Mother at our old home.”

The prince perked his head up. “Why is that?”

“If I see those familiar walls and smell Staven’s _dracay_ , I’m afraid I’ll never want to leave. There are memories contained in that place that I can’t hold onto here, being who I am now.” As if the gods heard his statement, Lukas’ gold hairpin gleamed in the light.

Emil looked to him. “Even if Mother was dying?”

“Even if she was dying,” Lukas said without hesitation. “I would feel an obligation to her people and to the old home. As the Shadow, I have a duty to Crodinia.”

Fair words for a fair ruler, the prince thought in admiration, though he thought his brother was being too selfless with his dedication—prideful of it, even.

* * *

Leon had not recovered in the morning or the evening of the next day. The prince busied himself in writing letters of gratitude for the guests of his birthday celebration. Best to send off kind words to leave a positive impression of himself than a dismal one, his brother had taught him. When all the ink had dried and his stack of parchment ran empty, he sent for a scribe to write the addresses and mail his letters. He then resumed studies on his tomes and whittled some more.

All the while as he worked, he could hear talks of supplies and preparations being made by mages, knights, and stewards in the halls. The Red Summer was drawing near, and with the prince’s birthday celebration having passed, cellars and coffers had been depleted more than the castle would have liked. The festival was reserved for Crodinia, yet there were often visitors of neighboring kingdoms who took part in the tourneys. There had been a jump in the number of foreigners since the end of the Sunset War, and while some locals had been disheartened by their victories in contests, the competition and coin they brought weighed out most complaints.

The prince was looking more forward to the festival than he had his own coming of age day. He hoped the Belethrenic vendor that sold mouthwatering caramel waffles and the glass spinner from Arbren would return. He would also have someone to accompany him beside a knight now that he was not a child; the notion of someone always looking over his shoulder as he tried to enjoy himself often bothered him. This year, he would be his own person.

The tourneys were not the only attraction the festival had to offer; food, entertainment, and products of various trade were also to be found and enjoyed along the capital streets. There were toymakers, spellbinders, herbalists, blacksmiths, musicians, beastmasters, and several more attendees that defined the spirit of the summer’s bounty. Partial pantries and coffers aside, there were always ways to make the Red Summer enjoyable. The kings of the past had been able to prevail in harder times, and the prince was certain that Mathias would be no exception.

Mathias was beside himself in making preparations. He had negotiated with Tim Maes during his visit on purchasing tourney weapons and supplying food and beverages. Being old friends, the King of Tulips had special discounts reserved solely for Mathias, and the two exchanged frequent business together. It would not surprise anyone that Tim had personally visited during Emil’s birthday to observe Crodinian purchasing trends; he had a knack for knowing how to balance supplies and demands.

Lukas had likewise turned his full attention to the festival preparations. The Red Summer was a representation of the work and culture Crodinia amassed, and it was a great morale booster in times of doubt and despair. “If the Red Summer goes well, the year goes well,” a previous king had said, and the Shadow had taken those words to heart. The Red Summer had been Crodinia’s standing solace during the peak of war, when sons, fathers, and friends had marched off to defeat the Altorienese forces. Lukas had only been present to one Red Summer during the Sunset War, but seeing fear and worry brighten into smiles for the week had convinced him that its principle must be preserved.

Mathias had taken charge of organizing the tourney schedule and supplies, while Lukas had planned a map of vendors, entertainment, and stationed patrol. There were but three weeks before the capital would fly its red flags bearing the Crodinian Cross. Much was still needed to be done, and for the rulers, there never seemed to be enough hours in the day; there were counseling, hearings, planning, and terribly little time for their own entertainment. On several accounts, however, Lukas caught his husband sneaking a match with the young knights.

Meanwhile, the prince had isolated himself in study until, one day, a message came to him that his pet was ready to be released from the infirmary. He was relieved to see that his pet was in perfect condition when all was said and done; not a single scratch or sign of fatigue was left on his body.

“Leon, I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he first said to the boy. He watched Leon’s eyes steal a look to the side as if trying to hide something from him, yet in their exchange, his pet wore a blank expression.

“Thank you,” he responded in Crodinian. He stood from his cot and came to his master’s side as if nothing had ever befallen him. They exited the infirmary, glad to be free of stale cotton and wafts of potions and headed to the tailor, as Leon’s first set of new clothes was complete. Nearly half an hour of changing later, Leon now had on a dark red doublet with loose black sleeves and brass buttons. The sleeves had a flair of loose cuffs that could be tightened for adjusting to the summer temperatures, though the prince had a feeling his pet would hardly feel warm in the outdoors. A pair of white trousers completed his top, the ends tucking neatly into knee-high laced boots. He looked handsome for an Altorienese, not as lavish as a lord but enough to hint at his significance. Emil was secretly proud he had picked him above the rest.

“The other sets of his clothes will be brought to your chambers this evening,” the tailor told him. The prince thanked him, now going to the royal study. With Leon back at his side, he needed to verse him in Crodinian if he was to bring him to the city during the Red Summer.

“How are you doing, Leon?” he thought to ask him when they were alone and snug in a private study chamber. He knew his pet would not answer, but it was best to keep at these practices for the time Leon knew how to respond. Silence was his answer, and so, Emil pulled out a book. It was an elementary text for children just learning how to read and write, however, there were plenty of pictures associated with words, a perfect starting place.

Hours passed alongside the sun. Leon was a remarkable learner, picking up phrases and grammar at lightning pace. He could formulate complete sentences by dinnertime, and his ability to learn from his master made time fly in satisfying speed. “I think we can call that a day, Leon.” Emil was smiling. He had never tutored another, having to resort to methods his mentors had used for his studies, but it had been enough for the Altorienese to understand his manner of teaching. At this rate, he would be able to hold conversations with him by the eve of the festival. “Shall we go see what the cooks made today?”

“I’d…like that,” Leon responded. He had a distinct accent, and it was uncertain at this point if it would ever disappear, but Emil cared not. His pet was learning, and it was he who had taught him.

“Good. I’m famished.”

The hall was teaming with squabbling scholars, buzzing mages, and winded knights. Emil made a direct path towards his usual spot at the front table at the end. He seldom, if ever, sat with anyone other than his brother and the king, but even then, Mathias would leave his seat and chat with his subjects. In fact, the king was currently laughing with a collection of dining guards, something about Tabrinnish soldiers being so poor at swordplay that they were better off fighting drunk than sober—so as to numb the pain when they were stabbed.

“Ah. There you are.” Lukas set his knife down at smiled warmly at the sight of his brother. “Were you able to get some studying done?”

Emil placed a hand over his pet’s head as his brother often did. The gesture felt unnatural, being that Leon was slightly taller than him. His pet did not move. “I’ve been teaching him how to speak Crodinian. He’s really fast. He might be able to understand us now.”

“Hmm.” His brother turned his eyes to the Altorienese, and while his younger brother did not catch it, he was certain the boy’s golden eyes had darted away. “So you really want him to be a talker?”

Emil’s eager spirits turned doubtful. “…Is that wrong?”

“No, I’m merely asking. What you teach him is entirely dependent on you.” His focus remained transfixed on the boy. Leon’s eyes had since glued to the ground.

“I do,” Emil confessed. “If you’re not there, someone will listen.” He looked tentatively to his pet. “And he doesn’t know. He has no reason to be afraid.”

Lukas cracked a sly smile. “Can he understand that?”

The prince’s fair cheeks blushed pink. He had taught Leon the words for emotions. Perhaps he _did_ know, and he might have it in his curiosity to ask him what he should fear. He prayed to the gods that he would never need to know. “He might,” he admitted. Hoping to change the subject, he asked of tonight’s meal. “Is there eel pie today?”

“Steakfish, if you’d prefer that. No eels. Perhaps their migration will start up later in the summer.”

“Perhaps.” The prince took his seat and instructed Leon to sit at the edge beside him. He called for a servant to bring him an extra set of silverware for his pet and decided to drill him on the various objects in the room.

“Table. Plate. Pie. Fork. Knife. Chair.” Leon paused as his master pointed to the figure sitting on the other side of him. “…The Shadow.”

Lukas’ ears perked up at the sound of his title. He was wearing a bemused smile. “You taught him our titles, too? Impressive.”

Emil had to stop and think on it. He had used his title around the castle before when with Leon, had he not? He could not remember. And yet, he also could not remember teaching him of their titles. Perhaps he had? There had been a lot of ground to cover. Curious, he pointed to Mathias.

“Sun King,” Leon said without hesitation.

Lukas sounded entertained. “Interesting. You didn’t give him our names?”

“I think he knows them by default,” the prince believed. He had been throwing his brother and brother-in-law’s names around so freely that he was confident Leon knew them by heart. But perhaps using their titles or names seemed out of place. “Leon, perhaps it would better to call Mathias and Lukas ‘Your Majesty.’ Just a thought.”

Leon blinked despite his blank expression. “As you say, Master.”

This made Lukas chuckle. “How rich. I’m glad you’ve been teaching your pet so many formalities.”

Again, the prince’s cheeks blushed, this time a deep shade of scarlet. He had taught Leon early on that he was his master, but he did not think Leon would actually call him “Master.” It sounded odd; even the servants did not call him that. Perhaps, he thought, he should not have taught him the word in the first place.

Titles aside, dinner went on pleasantly enough. Mathias had the opportunity to see Leon close and personal, laughing when Lukas told him his master had taught him their titles: the Sun King and the Shadow. “Do you know where my brother-in-law got his title?” Emil asked when they had retired for the evening. Leon’s new wardrobe came complete with sleepwear, one pair of which was dyed a red almost as rich as oakheart apples.

Leon had curled up in his cot on the floor. He had been given a risen mattress to keep from getting aches as he slept. “I don’t. Would you…tell me?”

Emil was more than happy to. He was glad that his pet was able to make verbal requests of him, however small they were. It was far more convenient than any ordinary beast. “All kings are given titles, mainly to commemorate their features. Mathias Køhler is the Sun King because his valor and strength brought the rising sun of victory to Crodinia. His smile is like the sun, too, people have said. I’ve known him enough to believe it is a fitting title.”

“What about your brother?” Leon asked. “He has a title.”

It was a surreal sensation hearing his pet speak. Emil had taught his pet words prior to his recovery, but this was on a whole other level of speech. Nevertheless, he was eager to answer his pet’s questions; it was like having a little brother of his own. No wonder why Lukas was always so willing to dote on him. “Queens don’t have titles, but because Mathias married my brother, there was an exception to his name. He’s not a king, but he works so closely beside him, that he was given the title, ‘The Shadow.’ While Mathias reigns in the sun’s light and warmth, my brother gives orders from the hidden covers of his king and deals with deeper political affairs. The more power Mathias has, the more power my brother has. The stronger the light, the darker its shadow.”

Leon was silent for a time, and Emil thought he had fallen asleep when he asked, “What about you, Master?”

“Me? Princes don’t have titles, Leon.” He heard his pet roll to the side.

“Can you tell me the other king titles?”

That was easy. The prince had been versed in the former and existing titles enough times that he could recall them in his sleep. “You know of my brother and brother-in-law. You may not have seen all of them, but there were quite a few kings in attendance during my birthday. Tim Maes is Mathias’ friend from Belethren; he’s the Tulip King because he bred a special strain of tulips that are now famous in his kingdom and made them rich. Allistor Kirkland is the eldest of his brothers and the crown ruler of Tabrini; he’s also one of Mathias’ friends. They call him the Ranger King because he’s a sharp shot with his bow. I’ve never seen him miss. Roderich Edelstein is the Teacup King because he’s fancy but fragile; his family has formalities and knowledge of politics with neighboring lands, while his wife’s family has militaristic power.” Emil stared at his pet’s absorbing eyes. Leon was in full attention. “You remember her, don’t you? Elizabeta. She…She’s a nice enough queen, truly. But in battle, they say she’s like a demon.” Leon mirrored his master’s stare.

Emil continued. “The three kings of Dotriba lie south of us. Gilbert Beilschmidt—you probably won’t forget him—is the Crimson King for his bloodlust and—” The prince sighed. “—awesome prowess for might. It’s written all over the latest Dotriban texts. The dastard must have made it a rule. But you know, it’s hardly false; my brother says he’s cunning and strong, not someone you should cross.”

“…I’m sorry,” Leon apologized.

“Thank you, Leon,” Emil smiled with forgiveness. He knew his pet had only meant to protect him that day. “Should I continue?”

“Are you, like, tired?”

“No. I can keep going. Perhaps doing so _will_ make me. Let’s see…there’s Antonio Carriedo, the Golden King. His kingdom lies in southern Dotriba where the sun shines a majority of the year. He’s been to the Otherlands and brought back gold, making Dotriba very wealthy recently. Francis Bonnefoy is the other Dotriban king of the west. All Bonnefoys are the Iris King; it’s their house flower and a symbol of royalty and faith to its people. Arbren has no kings…Caliger is a special case. That’s it, really.”

Leon lifted his upper body from his cot. “What about Altorien?”

Emil was taken aback. He was certain someone from that very place would know the title to his own ruler, but perhaps given that Altorien had been an empire rather than a kingdom, things had been different there. In any case, just like the naming convention with the Bonnefoys, there had only ever been one title that reigned absolute in Altorien’s royal history.

“The emperor was called The Garnered.”


	4. His Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eve of the Red Summer has arrived. A most interesting duel takes place.

On the eve of the Red Summer, Markal held a smaller celebration of good faith and appreciation for everyone’s hard work and investments. Carpenters, stonemasons, cooks, farmers, messengers, and many other commonfolk were given a generous food supply and ample compensation for their contributions in making the festivities possible. Mathias often made a spectacle of visiting the capital city and personally handing out clothes, rations, and coins to the working families.

“Like the Snow Sage,” Emil commented when seeing the king and his husband off to the city. He elaborated when Leon’s eyes grew curious. “He’s who Crodinians believe to be the children’s judge of good character. He appears as a spirit of mist during the warm seasons, and when the weather is cold enough, he materializes into a sage—namely during Ventursfort. It’s very much celebrated in Höthson. To each well-behaved child, he leaves a gift like sweets, toys, or clothes at the foot of their bedside. To the ones who were being difficult with their friends and family, he leaves a handful of ashes or dried leaves.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Why would he leave anything for the bad children?”

Emil thought about it for a moment. “Because it means he visited, I suppose.”

“Is he alive?”

“I think the word you’re trying to say is ‘real,’ Leon,” Emil corrected him. “But, to answer your question, I don’t think so. It’s part of a story to make children behave.”

“You don’t believe in him?”

“Of course not.” Emil had, in fact, believed in the Snow Sage until his tween years.

“You believe in His Majesty,” Leon pointed out, and again, hearing such formalities addressing his brother-in-law felt odd on his master’s ears. As it turned out, it was mostly foreigners who called Mathias Køhler by his titles. Growing up, Mathias had always wanted to be recognized as his own person before a king; it was a way of feeling closer to his subjects, he had said, so Emil wondered if that extension would reach his pet’s manner of speech.

“I believe in Mathias, yes.” Emil watched a small team of knights hauling wagons of supplies past the outer castle walls. With the king taking the lead, he was the first to disappear beyond view. “He’s better than the Snow Sage, I think, because he gives gifts to the adults, too.” He reached his hand out for his pet to take. “Let’s go to my room. I want to pick out what we’ll wear tomorrow, and I need to count how much money I have.”

The Altorienese hopped from his perch atop a low stone wall, gravitating towards his master’s side in an instant. “Master, may I ask a question?”

“You may,” Emil permitted.

“You’re the prince. Why would you, like, need to count how much to spend?”

“Take out the ‘like,’ Leon.” He had noticed that during their conversations, Leon was prone to picking up a slight variation on formal Crodinian. No matter how many times he tried to correct his pet, the prince had a feeling he would lose the continuing battle and let him speak as he did.

“The king’s money is your money,” Leon pointed out.

“You had that in Altorien, didn’t you? Your emperor’s money was earned through taxes; ours is the same. For a payment to the crown, it is the king’s job to serve his people.” He recalled what Francis had told him about Palleci's history with the monarchy taxing unfairly. “And you’re right: the king’s money is my money. That also means my money is the people’s money. I buy a few things for myself, but other than personal gifts and the like, I try not to spend outside of my means. It sets bad examples.” His pet smiled.

The pair sorted through their new wardrobes for something suitable to wear tomorrow, trying to match tunics with trousers and trousers with shoes. Though summer was in full season in Crodinia, there were chill winds to be felt at night and the occasional snowfall in the far north. Wise men wore layers, in addition to loose capes and light fabrics that were popular this time of year. “You have to wear something red during the festival,” explained Emil, holding up a belt to his waist. He was envious of the fact that Leon would not have any trouble picking out something to wear; the boy looked positively stunning in red, as he supposed all Altorienese did.

“Why is it called the ‘Red’ Summer?” Leon asked.

“Red is for the blood we bled to hold our provinces together. It is our unity and our brotherhood. It binds us even if we are apart. To us, it is a symbol of power, endurance, and pride.” Emil draped a red shawl over his shoulders. Against his white hair and violet eyes, the fabric looked terrible on him. He had grown so accustomed to dark cool colors that something loud and glaring like red felt uncomfortably repulsive on his skin. He removed the shawl and dug through the depths of his wardrobe. Last year, his article had been a layered vest, but he had since outgrown it, making his search all the more difficult. He only needed one red article. Just one.

Then, he felt something—a cape by the length of it—and pulled it out. The underside was a deep red velvet, but the outside was a dark shade of midnight blue, so dark that it looked black in the shade.

“Perfect,” Emil said at last. He tried it on while still wearing his light summer robes. It fitted nicely enough, if not a slight on the heavy side. He then studied his pet who had dressed himself in his festival attire. Leon looked regal: dark hair, fair skin, and golden eyes against a wine-red doublet with pileated sleeves and ebony buttons. He was accustomed to wearing black trousers and short boots, his master noticed, as he cared little for the knee-high variety. Perhaps it was an Altorienese habit.

“You’re very presentable, Leon,” he had to admit, and his pet graciously thanked him and parroted his praises.

Their outfits chosen, Emil spilled his coin purse on the rug and counted the tin, silver, and gold. He explained to his pet that the currency in Crodinia was based around three major astrological symbols: the sun, moon, and stars. Tin stars were light and easily to hold, being minted with a nine-pointed star on one side of the coin; on the other side, as with all three values, was the official Crodinian Cross with the four merits meticulously carved on the ends. Silver moons possessed a waxing crescent moon with a single cloud grazing the base. Gold suns had a near similar design to stars, minus the tin composition, the main difference being the center had a larger circle to embody the sun for which the coin was named.

“You can buy a common grown steer for four gold suns,” Emil explained. “A silver moon can buy you the average novel or a light meal from any modest tavern—four more, and you’ve got yourself a room and board for a night. A few sheets of parchment will cost a single tin star, and about three to five is the price for a loaf of bread, depending on the baker.” He finished counting his coins. “I’ve four suns, eight moons, and more than enough tin stars to buy us anything we want.”

“What’s there to buy?” Leon responded with a question.

“Food, books, show tickets, clothing, all sorts of things.” Talking about it made Emil excited. “It’s a Crodinian festival, but we’ve been getting more foreigners recently, thanks to…” His voice faded with eyes falling on his pet. “Leon, I want to know: are you happy here?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You didn’t choose to be my pet. If it wasn’t for my people, your empire wouldn’t have fallen. There will be Altorienese fighting in the tourneys. Some will be hurt, and some may come close to the verge of death. And if your happiness will be threatened by that and how we celebrate the Red Summer now, then—”

“It doesn’t matter, Master.”

Emil was taken aback at how absolute his pet sounded. Surely even he had his pride for his old empire. “How do you mean that?”

“We lost, you won. If it’s in my place to be by your side, and if you would have me there, I will stay.” He added with a flat tone, “I have no love for my old home.”

Emil had no clue how to respond. If the Altorienese had somehow invaded Crodinia and captured him, he would have been devastated. He wondered how long he might be able to resist before his body succumbed.

 _Don’t think about such things,_ he scolded himself. Tomorrow would be the beginning of the happiest week of the year. He wanted to savor the summer’s bounty and spend it with those he loved. If Leon was happy by his side, then there was nothing to hold back.

“…I know I said you weren’t the one who chose to be my pet, Leon, but if you would have me as your master, then I’m…glad.”

Leon smiled, genuinely, it appeared. Often Emil would steal a smirk of amusement or fascination from him, but never had an expression like this shone on his face. He wished to find ways to make him smile more.

With Mathias and Lukas visiting the city, Emil took Leon back to the study hall to tutor him on Crodinian. He taught him phrases he might need to know should they become separated, how to purchase items, how to refuse pushy vendors, and how to excuse himself if he upset someone.

“Just call for me,” said Emil, “and I’ll try to come and find you. I’m not well versed in seeking spells…or most magic, really.”

“Not even anima?”

“We’re at peace, Leon. There’s little use for anima and dark magic outside of war.” He distantly smiled. “Perhaps that’s better for my brother.” Turning his book to their last lesson, he proceeded to let his pet read the passage.

Leon was advancing to dialogue and punctuation, but however good he was at reading, he was still unable to write with the ink quills they used in the castle. “We used sticks and dirt in the villages,” he had stated, “but the better instruments were ink and brushes. Those were for the rich.” It mattered little, the prince thought. So what if he could write when he could already speak and read?

The lesson continued for a good two hours before Emil decided to take Leon to practice magic. He worked on the previously mentioned application spells, one being a seeker that could lead a trail of light to something he lost. Inanimate objects were already difficult without the proper visualization, but living creatures and humans were different; they required an astonishing amount of concentration on the features and aura of the person, and staying focused was not something Emil had perfected. He had tried to use the spell to find Leon in the courtyard, but after three minutes of searching per round, he would surrender to his pet’s hiding spot and call him out. They practiced for an hour before the horns atop the castle sounded the king’s return.

Emil called for his pet. “They’re back, Leon. Let’s go see.”

The Altorienese poked out from behind a stone wall and returned to his master’s side. At the front gate, Mathias came back with an enormous amount of gifts. The journey looked like it had failed, but on closer inspection and to the veteran resident, one knew that the gifts he returned with were from the commonfolk to him.

“He’s popular, isn’t he?” Leon smiled in his amused way, arms crossed. He saw pastries, blankets, cheeses, paintings, swords, and helmets, all gifts to His Majesty. “Are we going to meet him?” His master stood his ground, awestruck by the amount of presents the king had come back with. Most would not even be stored with Mathias’ possessions; the edibles were often distributed to the servants, the weapons to the guards, and the clothing and blankets to the scholars.

“He’s busy enough as it is,” the prince said. “They still have to organize his gifts, and he has to prepare his speeches tomorrow. We’ll see him at the festival.”

But before they could retreat, the king with his sharp sky-colored eyes spotted his brother-in-law. “Ice! C’mere! I’ve got something for ya!”

Emil could have sworn he heard his pet snicker. “Ice?” he smirked.

Leon's master rolled his eyes, unsurprised that Mathias would still call him that from time to time. “It’s a nickname.” Not wanting to make a scene, he approached the king and asked what he had brought. Mathias enthusiastically handed him a small burlap pouch, of which Emil immediately recognized the contents.

“Licorice,” he beamed. It had been many months since he had had the pleasure of seeing the confectionary, as they were typically made and enjoyed in the northmost reaches of the kingdom.

Emil saw Leon eyeing the ghastly-looking confectionaries—if they could be considered as such. Sleek oily vines were bound in black spiraled wheels, giving the treats an intimidating appearance and one that masked a more intimidating taste. A sharp stench exploded into the air when he opened the lip of the bag to its fullest, and while it was a nostalgic smell to the prince, his pet’s wrinkled nose and withdrawn expression showed otherwise. Still, he felt obligated to satiate his pet’s curiosity and took one wheel from its pouch. The licorice was smooth and sticky on his finger, leaving a brown smudge when he placed the wheel into Leon’s hand.

Gingerly the Altorienese took it and bit off a chunk of the edge, reeling immediately and spitting the piece on the floor. “I didn’t think you’d like it,” Emil sympathetically smiled. Licorice had a rich and strong taste, rarely acquired to anyone’s palette save for the population of Crodinia. He took one for himself and ate it like a plump grape to his pet’s horror and fascination. He finished the rest not long after.

Upon Mathias’ return, the castle seemed livelier than ever, were that possible. “He has an energy,” Leon observed aloud. “You want to, like, be with him.”

Emil agreed whole-heartedly. “He’s always been like that. He has a way of drawing you in. He’s kind, you know. Sometimes too kind.” Leon stared at his direction. “But that’s why my brother’s there to balance him out. He’s more…candid in his approach.”

Leon tilted his head. “How do you mean?”

They heard an excitable shout before Emil could answer. Encouraging cheers roared from a space outside of the knight’s barracks. “Mathias might be sparring,” the prince breathed and took his pet by his hand and led him to the training grounds.

The knight’s grounds was a wide space tucked in a pocket of the castle’s north side, just behind the main walls and near the stables. Straw training dummies armed with old armor and shields were lined up along one edge, while a weapon rack rested on the opposite end. In the center of it all was a rough circle of knights, old and new, egging on a new guardsman and the king, himself.

“Good arm there!” Mathias laughed. He blocked his opponent’s blow with little more than a raised training sword. His stance was wide yet sturdy, and he was quick on his feet. All it took was a lean to one side to move out of harm’s way or to thrust himself forward. From the way he swung to the very breath he took, swordplay was an instinct to him.

It was hard to see most of the match from the ground. Emil brought his pet up to the observation balcony in the hopes that it had not been occupied. Allistor, the Ranger King, was sitting in the far corner tuning the string on a training bow. It took but a quick glance to know it was not his signature weapon; Emil had seen Windcutter only once in his lifetime, but he knew it to be a spectacular bow with silver and emerald trimmings. It was almost a shame to see Allistor with such a toy by comparison.

“Fancy seeing you here, Steilsson,” the Tabrinnish king grinned. His emerald eyes flashed when he saw Leon. “Your pet?”

“Yes, Your—Allistor,” the prince responded. He hoped to steer their attention at the match. “Are you here to watch Mathias?”

The king chuckled. “How else am I to see the great Sun King in all his glory? Hardly lost his touch in blades. Heart’s still in it, too.”

It was a mental race to filter the Tabrinnish butchery of Crodinian. Quips and heavy accents littered normal conversations to where the prince could not decipher the simplest remarks. It did not help that the Kirklands were known to arm their tongues with biting sarcasm. Fighting back with cushioned courtesy hardly seemed fair.

“Lukas says his head’s not always in the right place,” Emil finally mustered a reply. It must have hit because it made Allistor bark a laugh.

“He ever tell ye the story of the Dusk Skirt?”

“At the Splitting Rivers, yes,” the prince nodded in its familiarity. It had been the talk of the castle when the battle had just ended. During the Sunset War, the Crodinian mages had frozen an entire network of rivers that flowed into the main arteries of Xialu, which forced the army to march outward for water. The main army had been led by the head general, General Cookie, as the prince recalled. With Dotriban, Crodinian, and Tabrinnish forces lying in wait at the nearest running river, they ambushed the unsuspecting Altorienese and killed the general. As with most armies, without a great leader, morale dipped, and the following army lost their courage and fled or fell. “Mathias was the one who killed the general.” The prince stole a glance at his pet. Leon made no reaction, perhaps due to never learning the Crodinian word for “general.”

“Aye, but he didn’t do it alone. The dog almost landed your brother, ‘fore my arrow caught his eye with the light.” Allistor tested the string on his bow. “O’ course Mathias wouldn’t mention that part to ya. He’s the big hero, in’t he?”

The prince recalled, “My brother did say there was something that caught the general’s attention when Mathias was confronting him, an arrow or the reflection from someone’s armor. But if the arrow was yours, why did you…?”

“Miss, aye?”

The prince dared not say it, regardless of how casual Allistor might have been. The Ranger King _never_ missed. It was known and impossibly challenged.

“Who ever said I didn’t do it on purpose?”

Emil’s eyes grew wide. “Your Ma—Why…?”

“I ain’t one for the fame and glory, Steilsson. Wouldn’t do to keep list’nin’ to the same story shoved down yer throat about ‘that time.’ Rather I keep to m’self and let it play out.” He smiled when Mathias overtook his challenger until he yielded. The guard surrounded him with applause and pats on the back as the king yelled out for the next opponent. “ ‘Sides, yer king’s a mighty heart-winner. He can handle it just fine.”

“You don’t appear so fickle, yourself, Allistor.”

The Ranger King laughed again. “Then you don’t know Kirklands, lad.”

The prince heard a familiar voice before he could think to response. Low and smooth, it should not have been audible above the shouting, but it was the speaker’s presence that silenced the entirety of the training grounds.

“Sparring again? You do realize tomorrow’s the festival. There are a hundred things to do and less than a full day to do them. I sincerely hope you don’t plan on doing them when you reek of sweat.” Lukas wore a dark tunic with an azure satin blouse that frilled like a blue peony in full bloom. He was not wearing robes, though a heavy velvet cape draped over his shoulders down to his tight-fitted black trousers. “If you’re going to spar with someone, do so against someone of your equal. You’re wasting time playing games.” Without taking his eyes off his husband, he grabbed a lean blunt sword and brandished it towards him. “I will be your opponent.”

A chorus of excited murmurs sprang up. Some left the scene and hurried to their comrades, presumably to spread word of the challenge. Mathias’ widespread grin lay plastered on his face, frozen at the sudden claim against his very husband.

“Huh. This should be interesting.” Allistor was keen and leaning his arm over the balcony. Leon had joined him lengths away at a vantage spot of his own.

The prince was all ears. He watched the king breathe into a laugh and spread his arms over his men. “I can’t disappoint everyone. Let’s do this!” He caught himself as the crowd erupted into cheers. “But if I win, Lukas, I get to build that ship.”

Lukas was unmoving on the wager, though he knew it was a far bigger bet to lose on his part. “Fair enough. Pick a weapon.”

Emil walked to his pet and leaned against the railing. “This isn’t something we get to see every day.”

“Didn’t know yer brother still spars,” Allistor commented with a beaming grin. “He’s already mighty fine with dark ice.”

The prince lowered his eyes to his hands, ring twisting. "He doesn’t, really, but I suppose he trains from time to time to keep himself sharp.” He wished to hold back his pride for his brother and spoke freely to his pet, instead. “Leon, pay attention. You might notice something special about my brother’s fighting style.”

Leon obeyed and watched intently, his golden eyes fixating on the Shadow’s movements as he undid his cape and made his way to the center. The grounds were defined by a ring made of twine that had been nailed into the earth. Knights commonly sparred within the ring to practice close-quartered combat, six being able to fit snuggly into its area at a time. With just two combatants, it would be easy to observe Mathias and Lukas’ movements, and everyone had moved to its edges for a first-handed view.

Mathias joined Lukas in the ring not a minute later, choosing a broadsword as his weapon of choice. Being the bulkier of the two, he favored larger, heavier weapons and could just as easily swing them as lighter ones. “I’m not going easy on ya just ‘cause yer my husband, Lukas.”

“As you shouldn’t.” Even from the balcony, the prince could feel his brother concealing a smirk. “I’m certainly not.” He held his sword behind his back as a viper would its head before a strike. One foot behind the other, he poised himself with patience thin as a bubble. The arena fell silent and thick with tension as the Sun King stepped into the ring.

Facing his front, Mathias lay his sword blade down, the sheer weight of the blunt steel digging a shallow hole into the dirt. “Allistor!” he barked to the balcony, spying Emil and his pet in company. “Start us off!”

Cool and composed, the Ranger King drew forth an arrow as effortlessly as extending his index finger. Emil hardly turned his head to look when the Tabrinnish king fired off his bow, cutting through the crowd and shooting between Mathias and Lukas. The arrow barely struck the earth when they exploded into combat, an infectious roar of cheering elevating their sudden energy.

Emil’s eyes twitched. He had stopped breathing some time ago and scarcely noticed in the fervor. They were fast. Too fast. Lukas was a dark flash, ducking under swings and dodging blow after blow without a miss in his step. Mathias was energy manifested with no falter in his swings, as each strike moved into the next. Had it not been for the swords, they might have looked like they were dancing, sun and shadow, fire and water.

On his own, Lukas lacked the physical strength to force an opening in his opponent’s guard, but he had patience and wit. Hundreds of times he had sparred with Mathias and watched him train from child to man, knowing his patterns and movements like a book. Even so, Mathias was not to be underestimated. He was not popular among the knights for nothing: his bottomless strength kept him at peak condition and fast on his feet. If he could keep Lukas at bay, he would land one blow—eventually.

The cheers died down into suppressed murmurs as the outcome become more muddied. Neither appeared to be giving, Mathias unable to trap Lukas into a deciding parry, Lukas unable to find an opening in Mathias’ flurry.

“Still got it, I see,” Allistor said with beaming eyes. He wore a wide smile on his face, like a child discovering magic for the first time. He stole a look at the prince’s direction, where he found a bright-eyed youth overlooking his family’s impressive swordsmanship. “Steilsson, you ever pick up swordplay?”

The prince had to close his mouth in embarrassment, as it had been hanging open. He lowered his eyes to the ground for a moment when he confessed, “I’ve never swung a sword against someone before. Lukas said I’ve never needed to.” He picked his head up to him. “You must know, if you’re the crowned and eldest son—”

“Aye, I know it can’t be helped,” Allistor smirked.

“Master,” Leon spoke up. “I think I, like, figured it out. Your brother’s trick, that is.”

“Did you? What is it?”

“He’s left-handed.”

Emil smiled, impressed. His pet’s intuition was unlike anything he could have imagined. “That’s right. I’m surprised you caught it so quickly. That’s why he’s so difficult to spar against—when he’s not using magic. He’s used to fighting right-handed opponents, but his opponents aren’t used to fighting him.” He looked on at his brother-in-law who had still yet to tire out. He was glowing in the heat of the match, never stepping out of line or losing the delicate balance between power and strategy. “Mathias is an exception, though. He’s fought my brother for so long that he can combat both types of wielders.”

Sun and Shadow kept dancing. Swing, step, slash. They spun around and around like two sides of a complete coin, their eyes never leaving the other. Yet while Lukas was nearly as good as Mathias in technique, his physical stamina lacked in comparison. He was not used to keeping this up for so long, not without using magic. He began conserving himself, taking fewer swings and blocking more often, his feet shuffling around the ring just enough to keep Mathias behind his blade.

Mathias must have noticed this, because he started to hit harder and faster. The crowd’s voices rose once more, cheering their rulers in the heat of the match. Above, Emil looked on with concealed energy. His heart was racing as though he, himself, was fighting with them. His eyes darted left and right, trying to find the exact instance when the match might be decided.

“Watch ‘im, Køhler!” Allistor shouted with cupped hands. He, too, noticed Lukas’ withdrawal in the offensive, though if his words came though or not was never certain.

Hearing the call from his friend, Mathias instead began to add flair, spinning where he did not need to and raising his arm higher than before.

“Ah, that idiot,” Allistor leaned back with a sly smile. “It’s good Tim isn’t here.”

Emil must have blinked. All at once, Lukas darted forward, slipping underneath the great blade from Mathias’ thrust and striking out with the handle of his sword. The blunt end dug into Mathias’ ribs and caught him from underneath. Surprised, he flew back and pulled his sword into a readying stance. It must have been for a fraction of a second that he failed to calculate, for Lukas suddenly came upon him, laying a swift kick into his knee and knocking him back. He swept his swordarm across Mathias’ torso, just barely being blocked but enough so he stumbled onto the ground. Lukas was upon him in that instance, a black shape gliding over his body, crushing Mathias’ right hand with his foot, and drawing his sword down at his throat.

“The Shadow triumphs!” someone roared, and rather than the erupting cheers that sounded when the match first began, there was a lulled impressive collection of hums and clapping.

Lukas, his breath struggling to catch in his lungs, removed himself of his husband and set his sword in the dirt. “Get up.”

Mathias remained, his body burning with sweat and heat in an eagle spread. There was not a fiber of ill will held in his unbroken spirit. He was smiling like nothing these men had ever seen, yet Emil knew what it was. “You got me, Lukas.” He lifted himself from the ground to his feet. Though he was taller than his husband, Lukas towered over him in that moment. “Glad it was you I married. Can’t imagine what you would have done if I hadn’t.”

The Shadow showed no emotion. “I’ve seen you last longer in bed. We had a deal.”

“Right. No more sparring. I’m done.” He pressed a hand to his ribs. “That hurts...”

Lukas craned his head to the balcony and called for his brother. Emil took his pet with him down to the ring and met with them.

“Sorry ya had to see that, Emil,” Mathias chuckled and felt his wound. The pain was burning into his side. “I’m alright; don’t need anything for it. I swear it wasn’t like this during the war.”

Emil blushed yet withheld a smile in front of his subjects. “Both of you fought well.”

“Aye, but Sunny Boy here was feelin’ confident, weren’t ya?” Allistor sauntered over to the three with his bow spinning in hand like a show staff. “Having too much fun?”

Mathias smugly looked to his men who were—while surprised that their king lost—still talking about the match. “Couldn’t help putting on a show for everyone, I’m afraid. I’m gonna pay the price for that one. Lukas? There’s festival funds we gotta take care of. Wanna go do those first?”

“Wash off, why don’t you? You smell.”

“If you join me, I’ll gi—Augh!”

Lukas exited the ring after giving Mathias a light kick in his behind. He was used to his husband exaggerating whenever he hit him, lightly or not. “We’ve accountants to take care of those.” He gave pause as his husband stood there in his sweat, stench, and self-pity. “Are you coming with me to bathe or not?”

“Coming!” Mathias needed no time to recover from an offer like that. He was up like an excited dog, scampering after his husband. The king and the Shadow gone, everyone returned to their duties, spirits renewed, and Emil was left alone to his devices once more.

“Coulda used some of that magic you had on ya, Steilsson,” said Allistor. 

Emil bowed his head. “Mathias’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not known outside of the inner families.”

“Ah. Wouldn’t mind having some of that in our blood—‘course minus the curse an’ all.”

The prince clasped his hands and felt for his ring. It was firmly fitted to his finger. “Your family’s known for its curses, too, is it not? I mean no offense…”

“None taken,” Allistor smiled, “but aye, yer right. Curses are a star a dozen in Kirklands like the plagued brows that runs on our heads.”

“I never knew it was a curse,” the prince confessed.

“Tis. But nothing t’ any degree of the Steilssons.” The Ranger King stole a glance at the Altorienese whose eyes had fallen on his master. “Didn’t see yer pet last I was here.”

The prince looked at Leon whose hands were folded behind his back. He stood patiently for his master’s instructions. “My brother gave him to me as my adulthood gift. He’s very smart.”

“He’s Altorienese.”

A lump seized in the prince’s throat. “I’ve been hearing that a lot from the others…Are you alright with him here?”

“Long as you’ve gotta good hold on ‘im, doesn’t matter which way the arrow flies.” The Ranger King peered closer. “You notice things in war. The fel’n, they’ve different eyes, the beasts, sharp things that glow a split second ‘fore changin’. ‘Course, I only saw the violent ones on the field. There’s smaller ones, things that do no harm. If yer pet’s here, he mustn’t have been cut out for battle material. Don’t look like fel’n, either.” He stared some more. “He’s got some thick brows on ‘im. Don’t suppose he’s part Tabrinnish, is he?”

The prince wore a befuddled look. He would not have known such a thing was a Tabrinnish quality had Allistor not pointed it out. Lukas _had_ said that his name was of Tabbrinish roots, however. “I don’t really know his origins; I only picked him out of a litter on the night of my birthday. Mathias did tell me I should find out about him. I could always ask my pet, here.”

The Ranger King raised one of his thick cursed eyebrows. “You trust him t’ tell ye the truth?”

“He has no reason to lie to me. I’ve been kind to him, and he’s been very cooperative and kind in return.”

Allistor said nothing to that. Rather, he gathered his bow and plucked the arrow he had fired earlier. “Need t’practice for tomorrow. You going to see the tourney? Archery’s up first.”

“If it’s the Ranger King, I wouldn’t want to miss it,” the prince mimicked in his brother’s flattering voice. He suspected Allistor caught that because he merely smirked and moved along. “Leon, we should go,” he said, clasping his pet’s hand. He took him to the side of the castle closest to the sea. The afternoon sun was peeking through the gray overcast.

“Leon, are you fel’n?”

His pet wore a blank stare. It should have come to no surprise that Altorienese would have a different name for it. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Those who transform into beasts. It’s one of the Altorienese specialties.”

Leon smiled a half smile, sullen and reserved in his tone. “I’m not.”

“That’s…good.” He felt better now. “And Tabrinnish? I don’t suppose you’ve any relation to someone from the island kingdom, do you?”

“No,” Leon answered with certainty this time.

That was all Emil needed to hear to put his nerves to rest. “Alright. If that’s what it is, then…” He stopped his fingers which were reflexively resting his ring. Taking his hands to his sides, he let out a heavy sigh and found support at a nearby bench. Leon sat next to him.

“Master?” Leon spoke up. “Are you alright?”

Emil forced a slight smile, his hands glued to the bench. “I’m fine, Leon. I’m thinking about the festival. There will be lots of different things to see. I want you to like it, too.”

“If you like it, then I will like it,” Leon proclaimed, which was polite if not obligatory of him to say.

“Thank you, Leon.”

The sun set, dinner passed, and bedtime came. Emil had climbed into bed and sat against propped pillows. He was enjoying a novel from his uncle against his color-changing light, Leon meanwhile excusing himself to use the privy. He had near finished four chapters when he realized his pet had not returned. He thought to use a seeking spell and call his pet back when Leon returned to his chambers.

“What took you so long?” Emil marked his place in his book and studied his pet. Leon’s expressions were subtle, yet there was a vacant look in his eyes, as if his mind was not completely present. “Leon?”

His pet snapped up his head and gave attention. “Yes, Master?”

“Where were you?”

Leon’s eyes examined the ground. They moved in aimless circles before looking to the lamp now giving off a soft green light. “It was…dark.”

“Oh…” Normally the royal hall _was_ noticeably dark, partially to prevent guests from accidentally wandering into the area, but also partially to give the residents their privacy. Emil had accustomed himself to illuminating the halls with a simple spell, but being Altorienese, it was impossible for Leon. The eastern empire housed no magical lines of any kind, save for transformation. “I’m sorry, Leon, I should have gone with you.”

“I won’t take long again,” his pet simply responded. He slipped into his covers until they barely showed his eyes. “When will we be going into the city?”

“Crack of dawn if we can.” Emil was not always the best early riser, but the thought of breaking fast to smoked salmon with creamed cheese and caramel waffles from the vendors was too irresistible to sleep through. That and watching the archery tournament.

“I’ll wake up, then,” Leon said. He leaned to his side and closed his eyes. “Good night, Master.”

“Good night, Leon.” Emil reopened his novel and finished one more chapter before deciding to sleep. He set his book aside and dimmed his light, the color now a dark bluish purple. It reminded him of the velvet cloak his parents had given him on one of his youngest birthdays. How must they be faring, he wondered? He tried to imagine them coming to the festival, but even in the faintest memories he had of them, he could not picture them wearing red. His mother with her pale hair and cream-colored skin looked best in white, and his father with a cold complexion and strong fortitude had often worn silver. Lukas would be wearing red tomorrow, too, yet he also looked foreign in it compared to his dark colors. He supposed they were all family in the regard that red was not completely suited for them. It was an amusing notion.

His mind alert with fanciful thoughts of festivities and the color red, he struggled to close his eyes and keep them shut. He tossed his body to the wall nearest his window. As a child, he had been giving sleeping drafts of slumberoots and pigmy thyme to soothe his fits. He had done away with the herbs as he had gotten older and found peace in his teenage years, but tonight of all nights was different. He had been excited for the Red Summer every year prior, and it should have been no different now. But it was. He tossed again, this time to the side nearest his door and facing Leon’s floor-made cot. His pet had buried his head into his covers, and judging by his heavy breathing, he must have fallen asleep already, the lucky boy.

Emil resorted to reciting chants to himself. Incantations were reserved for spiritual spells, hardly useful for a prince but necessary for mastering all schools of magic. He began with a simple spell of whispers and moved on to voices and then to songs. Sure enough, as with his lessons in the art, his eyelids began to droop and his breathing slowing. That was when he heard it. Subtle moans at first, but they crescendoed to vocal gasps and near yelping.

 _Oh gods…_ His cheeks hot and his legs crossed in his covers, Emil pulled his pillow over his ears and rolled onto his stomach. That was one downside to having a room close to the king and his husband. He was not sure they knew how loud they were, and he doubted anyone would ever mention it aloud. Desperate for some solace, he looked to Leon to see if the noise had woken him up. It was the first time they had done it since he had gotten his pet. Perhaps Leon was a light sleeper. But his pet had not stirred, save for his breathing. Emil was going to have to wait it out, no more than half an hour at the extreme worst. However late it was, the night suddenly became a long one. He hoped Leon had a better internal sleeping schedule than he did.


	5. His Emergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukas steels himself for this year's Red Summer. Mathias offers support.

Lukas Bondevik woke to an empty bedside. His eyes and mind were well rested, but his hips pulsed sore. The sheets smelled of fluids and required washing—he made a mental note to call for servants when he was cleaned and dressed. 

His vision settled, he steadied himself to his feet, clothed himself in a light tunic and trousers, and went to the bathhouse. He saw his brother’s door closed as he passed through the hallway. “Not come out yet,” he muttered to himself and continued on. 

Mathias was already done with his bath, having dried himself off and was examining his bare features in one of the many mirrors fixed on the walls. “Morning, Lukas.” His smile was like the morning sun. 

“You should’ve woken me.” Lukas stripped his tunic and cast it aside. He grabbed a soaped sponge and dove into the water, furiously scrubbing himself while staying conscious of where Mathias had entered him the night prior. 

“Why, so we could take a bath together?” 

Lukas glared. 

“Sorry. You looked tired. Didn’t wanna wake ya.” 

Lukas submerged his head into the warm water. It was not near boiling as his brother could handle, but his cooler constitution allowed him to tolerate heat to some degree. When he resurfaced, his hair clung to his head and neck, emitting steam into the air. He scrubbed once more. “We’ve no time to waste today. Breakfast, news, and then the tourney.” He tossed his sponge off to the side of the bath and stepped out. The wash had been quick enough that his skin had not pruned. He grabbed a towel and was drying himself when his husband walked over. 

“Hey,” he whispered in a low husky voice, “how’re you doing?” 

“I’m fine.” He was still sore, but it would pass by the end of the day. “And you?” He moved to his husband’s backside, finding rows of swollen pink flesh where his nails had dug into Mathias’ skin. These were ghosted by parallel rows of other scars that continuously crisscrossed in patterns, reminders from the many other times they had made love. 

“Fine,” Mathias echoed. His lack of contempt or pain made Lukas feel guilty all over again. 

“You should tell me if it hurts.” 

“Doesn’t.” Mathias was stubborn. Lukas kissed him, the hard-headed fool, and glided a hand around his neck. He nibbled his lower lip just before Mathias slid his hand over his rear and pressed him against his chest. 

Gasping, Lukas pulled away, his hands clammy and cold. “You really want to start now?” 

“ _You’re_ the one who kissed _me_ ,” Mathias teased. He stole a look through one of the high windows that vented out the hot steam. “Sun’s not up yet. We could do a quick—”

“We just bathed,” Lukas cut him off despite his lower region stinging. 

“Then we could bathe again—together.”

If Lukas had not been used to Mathias’ responses after all these years, he might have blushed, yet doing so would only encourage his husband. His cool expression instead displayed disapproval. He shielded his chest with crossed arms. “Pleasure yourself, why don’t you? We can’t miss the first tourney.” His morning clothes already prepared the night prior, he began to dress himself in spite of Mathias’ protests. 

“It’s supposed to be the happiest week of the year. You want to make it happy for both of us, don’t you?” 

“How generous to include me in your favor.” Lukas slipped on his cape, the underside of which was a dark mahogany, barely falling under the category of red. It sported brownish and magenta hues in warm lighting, but Mathias had given it a pass. Who would dare oppose the king of Crodinia’s opinions? 

“Tonight then?” Though he continued to press the idea, Mathias had already started getting dressed, himself. Over his blouse, he put on a well-fitted satin coat of crimson red with gold tassels and buttons. The cuffs were accented with sapphires gifted from the Sar’ph mines, adding a hint of sentimental value when presenting himself alongside his husband. “Allistor’s gonna be in the archery tourney. If he loses, we’ll celebrate once. And if he wins—”

“Twice?” Lukas refrained from laughing. He had no outing to such a proposal, being rigged to an arbitrary piece of information: Allistor Kirkland, the Ranger King, never lost at archery. 

On that note, his hand hovered over his waist. A phantom of pressure still leaned into his body where Mathias had gripped him. He hated losing, that much had become obvious over the years of knowing him, yet when he did, his projections often became physical—sensual, more like. Lukas supposed that had been his revenge for losing the sparring session yesterday.

Mathias must have read his thoughts because he went to him and held him. “You look good today.” His voice lulled into as much of a whisper someone as loud as him could manage. All the same, he was genuine. “Better than usual.” 

“Don’t tell me it’s because of the red.” Lukas had grown accustomed to wearing the color on occasion, but he believed his design was not destined for donning a shade of crimson. 

Crimson. 

The links in his mind hooked onto to one another, matching color with title, title to king, king to proposal, proposal to threat, threat to his brother. 

“Emil…” he mouthed. 

Mathias moved back. “You say something?” 

“Emil,” he vocalized. “…He was sleeping when I woke. I didn’t ask if he wanted to see the tourney.” 

His husband chuckled. “We can wake ‘im up the old-fashioned way.” 

Lukas cracked a smile. “We _just_ bathed. And no.” He broke free of Mathias’ hold. “If Emil wants to sleep, let him. He’s old enough to know what he wants for himself.” 

Mathias blinked. “You’re really fine lettin’ him go out on his own?” 

“He’s not going to be on his own. He has his pet. I trust he’s old enough to know how to be careful.” 

“Ya sure?” 

“Hopefully.” Restless, Lukas gripped his wrist. He needed to move. The day was still young. He walked. Mathias followed, his longer stride allowing him to keep pace without effort. 

“Sure yer feelin’ alright?” 

“Sure as snow.” 

Mathias stared ahead, thinking back on the counsel they held during the weeks planning the festival. “There are mages patrolling the city, archers positioned along the towers.” His hand gravitated to his husband’s hand, gripping into his familiar icy palm. “I’ll be with you.” 

Lukas said nothing. He needed all of his mental fortitude with him. 

“Hey…” He gave his hand a tender squeeze. “I know ya hear it every year, Lukas, but I just wancha t’know I love you.”

Lukas loved Mathias a little more than in that moment. Had not years of constructing his emotional walls hardened him, he would have buckled and begged Mathias to cancel the Red Summer. But there would be next year, and the year after that, and the curse would only grow stronger and wilder. It was inevitable. 

On any other day, Lukas might have kissed his husband and taken him up on that offer to wake his brother. They would sleep well into the afternoon, groggy but having each other all to themselves. When they would wake, they would spend the rest of the wasted day in their chambers, perhaps play a game of chess, and make love until their bodies were spent. They would wake the next morning starving and gorge on breads and smoked fish and cheeses until they were full again. And the day would continue on like any other. 

Lukas squeezed Mathias’ hand back in acknowledgement. Then, he released his hold and let his hand fall to his side, Mathias doing the same. The first guard bid them a good morning, then the next, and the next, and the next…

* * *

The two Crodinian rulers ate a light breakfast. They sat together, though they might as well have been at opposite ends of the table. Mathias had become absorbed with his men who patrolled the city streets and castle walls. Lukas was keeping an inventory on the crown’s funds and food stock, should the pantries run empty in support for the servants. Having Emil’s birthday celebrated at such a short time before the festival put a damper on their usual funds, but with enough resourcing, the week would go over as well as any other year—maybe even better if nothing went unexpectedly wrong. 

Mathias had ordered a few practitioners be sent to the Green Maw when he drank the last of his ale. “Done here. Lukas, you ready?” 

Lukas, meanwhile, had forbade the masons from ordering any more stone. The alchemists were currently experimenting with different types of mortar mixes to create a solid binding agent for castle repairs. It would be cheaper to reinforce old walls and erect new ones, so there would be a significant decline in ordering bricks for the time being. “I’m ready.” He was up on his feet when his husband barred him from leaving. 

“Ya barely touched yer food.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“Yer gonna need yer strength, Lukas.” 

“You’d have me stuff myself and get cramps later?” 

Mathias’ face melted into a sheepish smirk. “I’ll carry you if ya can’t walk.” 

“I’m sure that would be a boost in morale for our kingdom.” Lukas wished he had not opened his mouth; Mathias was dense and proud enough that he would consider prancing through the streets with his mortified beloved bouncing on his shoulders. Fortunately no carrying ensued, and he suggested something more practical. 

“There’s gonna be lots of food in the city. We could grab something on our way to the tourney.” 

“Fair enough,” Lukas agreed. Mathias let him through. They took their own horses into the capital instead of riding in a carriage. The red banners flying across the skies looked most lovely when sailing from an open view. By the time they arrived at the westerly reaches of the city, the sun had peeked its way over the distant knolls and cast a field of spindly rays across gray fields. The snowfall would cease for a few precious weeks, and the kingdom would be lavished in a welcoming healthy green. It was Emil’s favorite time of the year, Lukas fondly recalled, as he, too, held pleasant memories of the green season. 

“Beautiful day for a festival.” Mathias’ smile radiated further than the sunlight could venture. Lukas’ heart was warmer merely riding alongside him. They purchased salmon glazed with a sweet butter sauce and some sugar puffs from opened vendors, Lukas wanting to share the location of the sugar puff seller with his brother. Though it was early in the morning, the city was already teaming with residents and visitors, alike. Lukas recognized banners from his province over south in Surlith, as well as a few rare distant banners from the northernmost reaches of Vesnïn. 

The Green Maw stretched out in a vast grass-covered bowl of a valley that split in two like the jaws of a dragon. Lukas thought it an appropriate name when he had first seen the valley, having marveled at how odd a natural occurrence could form so closely to the capital city’s outskirts. Geographers had written that the Green Maw had come to be when a great earthquake had split the land in two all along the center. At one point, a fault had unsealed an underground lake, causing it to spill into the ocean with the earth above sinking into the vacant space. The bowl remained at the entrance of two great risen segments of earth, serving as an idyllic location for tourneys and other outdoor gatherings. Here, a grand series of round arenas and spectating benches had been erected for fights and attendants, Lukas and Mathias having special seats facing across from the Green Maw’s opening. 

Archers were practicing on straw targets, shooting at small objects, or maintaining their bows and arrows. It was common for the winner of the tourney to be offered a position among the castle archers, given that the person’s background was reputable. How amusing would it be if Allistor gave up his crown for a place in Crodinia’s walls, Lukas humored himself. 

The Ranger King was tightening a training bow, his fiery red hair recognizable from afar, when Mathias strolled over to him “Mornin’, Allistor! Ready to win one for the Kirklands?” 

Allistor’s normally lackadaisical expression was fleeting and pensive. “Wouldn’t be fun if I embarrassed the best o’ yer kingdom. ‘Sides, something in the air’s got me thinkin’ it’d be better to sit back and watch.” 

“Oh.” The pang in Mathias’ voice hinted disappointed, this much Lukas could detect, though it was unclear if Allistor could hear it. “S’alright. I’m not gonna force anyone if they’re not feelin’ up for it.” 

Lukas wore a smirk. “Seems like there won’t be any victory or losing rounds tonight.” 

“But!” Allistor suddenly snapped up, brightening his emerald irises like a spell. “There’s able eyes, Mathias; I see em’. If yer gonna do some scoutin’ this year, least I can do is watch them with ya.” 

Mathias wore disappointment like a glaring mask, with how distinct his expressions were. “You’d better. I was kinda hoping you’d take me up on an offer to become a Crodinian archer. Gonna have to settle for second best now.” 

Allistor laughed. “Don’t know what me brothers’d say to switchin’ over to Crodinian royalty.” 

_Brothers…_ Lukas extended his neck in the hopes that he might spot a head of white hair above the crowd. His brother was always easy to make out in any instance, but he saw only the ordinary mixture of blondes and brunettes—and redheads, as Allistor counted. 

“We’ve got some time ‘fore the tourney starts,” Mathias said. “Wanna look around and point out some potential winners, Allistor? Lukas can come, too.” 

“If it’s the Sun King, do I have a choice?” 

“You do, buuut it’s normally polite to listen to the king of the hosting kingdom.” 

Allistor consented. Lukas went with them, listening to the Ranger King’s idea of a good archer. He mentioned the maintenance of their weapons being a particular strongpoint, as an archer was really only as good as his equipment. Accuracy required steady hands and good hand-to-eye coordination to keep a balance between strength and precision. “Consistency is a whole other beast. Can’t see it from the first shot. That’s where you’ll need to be careful. ‘Less yer good with readin’ the eyes, you can’t always tell when someone’s nerves’ll seize.” 

Lukas understood that. He had seen men bragging around the campfires during the Sunset War of how many men they would fell, how far they would take their brigades across the battlefield, how many women they would bed, and so forth and so forth. Come time of battle, they would fall as any other, their flesh and blood protruding out from fatal wounds for the world to see. 

He held his hand. _Shaking today._ He stilled his nerves and took a few deep breaths. Mathias and Allistor’s voices blurred together into incomprehensible sounds. He wondered if he should have prayed today. He could have brought it to his husband’s attention, but where would that leave them? A disappointed friend and lover having to leave before the first tourney of the Red Summer at the expense of a slight feeling. _Steady_ , he thought. He released his hand. The shaking subsided. His dread did not.


	6. His Breadth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first events of the Red Summer take place. Not all goes as smoothly as intended.

Emil flew down the stairs, Leon in tow. He bumped gracelessly into servants through the north wing, however, he took no notice of them today. Gods be good, the sounds last night had kept him up for an extra hour. Leon had tried to wake him—he remembered the gentle nudge of his pet and his soft voice—but he must have slept through the first couple of attempts. He would make it up to Leon with a treat later, but in that moment, time was of the essence.

“I need a carriage to the Green Maw,” he hastily told the stablemaster. He cursed himself for not teaching Leon how to ride, as it would have been faster going through the city on horseback. There would not have been enough time to teach him, anyway; between language and etiquette lessons, there was scarcely a moment to go riding.

The stablemaster called for his apprentices to assemble a two-horse carriage. With so many preparations being made throughout the castle, the entire process must have taken a good half an hour before the carriage was ridable. Emil and Leon hopped into the cabin and took off for the city.

“Gods, I’m sorry for not waking up, Leon.”

“It’s fine, Master,” his pet smiled evenly. He was well-dressed—better than the prince. He very well may have been graced with the blessing from The Ornate. His chosen tunic proudly flashed the festival color, while Emil’s questionable hue was concealed inside his cape.

Emil’s face felt hot. His cheeks were most likely pink. “Did you…hear them last night?”

Leon hollowly stared. “Hear what?”

“Never mind.” He let out a long sigh. “I wanted to eat breakfast in the city, but we’ll have to settle for stall food at the tourney.” He stole a glance at Leon. “Which is fine,” he added, “but it would have been nice, it being just the two of us.” His pet flashed a rare genuine smile.

It must have been roughly an hour of a ride to the tourney, and while they made it before it began, the stalls and seats were packed to the brim with people. Emil would have preferred coming earlier, when things were not so crowded and the growing buzz of noise would have been soft enough for him to adjust to. Persevering, he waded his way through the crowd until he and Leon reached the tallest vendor reserved for privileged guests and royalty. Lukas was sitting in his rightful spot when Emil stepped onto the balcony.

“Good morning, little brother,” he greeted with kind blue eyes. “Did you enjoy your extra minutes of sleep?”

“No thanks to you,” Emil grumbled. Lukas donned a mischievous smile. “Where’s Mathias?”

“Off parading around somewhere with Allistor. They’re doing some scouting.”

“Scouting? Why bother? I had the impression Allistor was going to participate in the tourney.”

“He thought it would be boring,” Lukas said, disappointedly. “Which is true. It’d be dull having to settle for the second-best archer.”

“Perhaps…” It would be improbable for the Ranger King to drop his title of crowned king of Chottsym and join Crodinia’s guard as a lowly archer. Still, it would have been interesting being able to speak to someone besides Lukas and Mathias (and possibly Leon) on equal terms in the capital. There were few people who knew the severity of his lineage, and fewer still to whom he would open his heart.

Lukas fussed over the state of Emil’s hair while the last of the attendants wandered into the bleachers. Even when the kings returned, there were stray ends protruding from the prince’s curls and bangs.

Mathias opened out the first tourney with a welcoming speech as grand yet redundant as every other year. Despite the same themes, his people roared with excitement. It was different than his birthday, Emil thought. His coming of age day had been a more personalized celebration compared to this. This was a celebration of Crodinia, itself, and perhaps why he enjoyed it more.

The first of the archers poured into the arena. The targets were stationed twenty meters away, an easy distance to start with. Only the best out of five from each fleet would continue to the next round, with the targets moving another twenty meters away. The following rounds allowed the single best archer to progress to the following stage until one archer was claimed the winner. While the first rounds went on, Emil leaned to his pet’s ear. “I’ve heard that the Ranger King can hit a bull’s eye from three hundred meters out—some say more.”

“Ranger is a good title,” the Altorienese boy said.

Emil agreed. “I can’t say how much of that’s attributed to skill. The Kirklands are well-versed in magic—more than Crodinians, perhaps. I know Allistor uses magic to guide his arrows, but I don’t know what it is.”

“A secret, then?” Leon seemed intrigued by this.

“If it _was_ a secret, I wouldn’t even know.” Frankly, no one outside of the Kirkland family was completely certain. It was entirely believable that the royal Tabrinnish family harnessed magic of The Arcane to bend fortune to their favor, but their vast range of masteries made it difficult to discern which arts they used.

The first round of archers finished, and the next round came along and went. The number of participants shrunk until four remained. The targets had now moved back eighty meters. Two archers failed to hit the targets at such a range, while the other two were unable to make bull’s eyes but still struck into the rings. Emil and Leon had just returned from buying a bag of sizzling rock poppers when the first of the final two drew his arrow. He fired and missed. Allistor leaned behind Mathias and said something to Lukas, who nodded. Mathias added something, as well, before the three resumed observations.

Of ten shots, the first archer struck three times over eighty meters. It was the last competitor’s turn. The buzzing crowd had gone silent. Everything came down to this. The winner would take home a grand five golden suns.

The first was a miss. Second, a graze. Third a hit, but just outside the central rings. He was getting a feel for it. By the fifth, the arrow struck. And the sixth, and the seventh, eighth, ninth…

“Forde of Höthson is our winner!” Mathias announced in an excitable voice. The arena burst into a polite chorus of applause; this was only the opening tourney—the best had yet to come. He and Allistor had spoken to him right before the tourney, as the king had with all the contestants. It seemed he had had the most expectations for him.

When the frenzy of the competition died down, Forde came and knelt in front of his king. He had to be no older than twenty with short straw-colored hair and honest gray eyes. Mathias presented him with a red velvet pouch of five golden suns, as promised for the winner.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Forde bowed, “but I had hoped today I might be rewarded with something finer.”

Mathias raised his eyebrows, taken aback. No one in his reign had ever refused the prize money before. Some had accepted it and given it to the second-place winner in a few rare moments, but nothing like complete refusal. “If it’s a place by the royal archers, then you’ve got that goin’ for ya,” he reminded the winner.

“That, too, I wish to decline.” Forde rose, staring directly at Allistor. “If His Majesty would permit, I’d be honored to see the Ranger King’s archery. I’ve traveled from the east and grew up on stories of the fabled archer’s skills unlike any other’s.”

Mathias looked at his friend, asking for silent permission.

“If it saves ye five suns,” Allistor chuckled, “why not?”

Forde did not move, but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed a glimmer of excitement. “You have all my thanks, Your Majesty.”

“Aye, aye,” Allistor averted his eyes. Having been crowned not a full two years, he had never gotten used to being addressed as a proper king.

Mathias then ordered a target to be set at the edge of the valley, beyond the borders of the arena seats. The target was barely visible, no more than a straw-fashioned speck amongst the greenery. At such a distance, Emil could not measure how far away it truly was. It was definitely more than three hundred meters out.

Allistor picked a common bow crafted specifically for the tourney, and drew it as a test. Dexterous fingers tightened the string, and he gave it another draw. Good enough. He plucked an arrow from the spares and nocked it to the center of his bowstring.

The crowd had begun dissipating since Forde had been announced winner, but there were people who spotted the Ranger King and lagged behind and watched. A soft buzz stirred in the air, and soon, the arena grew quiet once more. Emil watched the performance, his pet’s eyes keen and wide. Lukas and Mathias observed with a more judgmental stance, having borne witness to greater feats during the war.

Something about the air changed. It crept up in a warm wave. The wind that had been calm with the coming summer licked Emil’s cheeks and tickled his ears. It was fair and pleasant, unlike any he had felt blowing from the biting Sea of R’as. Like a sail catching the tailwind, Allistor let his arrow fly. With a whistling swish, it carried overhead in a splendid arc that traveled the entirety of the arena and across the Green Maw’s valley. Emil must have been holding his breath when the arrow flew because when he saw it stroke the target so spectacularly, he suddenly inhaled with such force that he made an audible gasp. Leon looked to him while the spectators erupted in applause.

Mathias slapped a hand on the accomplished Ranger King’s shoulder. “Nice job, Allistor.”

The said Kirkland dumped his bow in the barrel and stretched his shoulder. He asked about what other matches would be held later in the day, as he was planning on leaving before the week was out. Jousting would be the only other tourney held, but that was reserved for later in the afternoon. “Jousting, is it?” the redheaded king frowned with disinterest. “We’ve plenty o’ that on the islands. Think I’ll busy m’self ‘round the city instead.” On that, he gave a curt bow and vanished from sight like a brilliant flame snuffed out.

 _He’s a mystery, that king_ , Emil thought, failing to see a head of red in the crowd.

For the jousting tourney to commence, the arena would need to be cleaned of the stray arrows and straw targets. The ground would have to be mowed and trimmed for horses to stride on, too, and ornamented with appropriate fencing and banners. More people would be in attendance for that tourney, as it was the true premier opener of the Red Summer.

“I hope you’ve studied the houses, dear brother,” Lukas hinted a test of sorts, as he had never missed the jousting tourney outside of the Sunset War.

“I’ve been studying.” Emil had drilled himself on a few lesser houses prior to Leon’s recovery, but he had secretly hoped Lukas might have forgotten or become enraptured with something else.

“Mathias and I are going to be staying here awhile. You’re free to do as you please today.”

“The entire day?”

“Actually, the whole week, I mean,” Lukas corrected himself. “That is, assuming you can be responsible.”

“I can be responsible,” though the prince’s assurance made him sound less convincing.

“That I can believe. Oh, and before I forget, do pay a visit to Thorson Alley. There is a vendor with an indigo canopy that sells sugar puffs. I think you’ll like them.” Emil grumbled something about not needing to indulge in sweets as an adult, but his muttered words fell deaf on Lukas’ ears. The Shadow was briefly staring at Leon before tearing his eyes away. Mathias was calling him.

Emil and Leon returned to their carriage and headed for the city. With other carriages departing for the festivities in the threaded streets, the journey was long and slower than when they had first arrived. Emil drilled his pet on Crodinian etiquette and vocabulary. As they passed banners, he also took the time to identify each one.

“The Karlssons reign in Lins, known as the Ice Shears. There, you’ll find canyons of frozen water that look like glass when you walk through. I’ve never been there, but I’m told it’s beautiful and cold in the wintertime. The Kvarans are neighbors of my house, facing the Blizzarding Seas from the mainland. They reign over the westerly Staven province. They’ve served as liaisons of the Islands of Morstur and the crown for as long as anyone can remember. They’d be more powerful than us because of their access to the mainland, but since my brother’s married into the ruling family, we’ve been enjoying some finer privileges as of late.”

“Such as?” Leon piped.

“More generous rations and ease on tax burdens, to name a few. To be honest, the Islands of Morstur never had much to contribute to the crown. We’ve been mainly known as a defensive obstacle to guard the west.”

“From what?”

“You know,” Emil furrowed his brow, “it’s been so long since I’ve lived on the islands that I can’t be too certain I remember. But then, Father never told me the exact details. Whatever it is, our service is paid with food and furs. We didn’t have a lot of those during bad summers.”

Leon broke a smile. “Huh, your old home is colder than this?”

“Sometimes. There _is a_ volcano on the largest island that keeps the earth green and warm. That’s the largest island where I was born.”

“What’s a volcano?”

“A mountain of fire,” Emil explained. “When enough fire builds up, it erupts out in molten earth and metal. My people say dragons were born of the mountain.”

Leon chuckled, to his master’s confusion. It was difficult knowing what amused him and what did not. “They don’t have those where I’m from.”

“No? I would have thought fel’n and dragons could be one and the same.”

His pet gave pause. “Maybe once, but not now.”

“Oh…Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t think the world needs fire and destruction right now.” Leon appeared to agree.

Emil continued on with the banners, though some were from visiting kingdoms that he failed to recognize. Flowers often indicated those hailing from Palleci, the kingdom Francis Bonnefoy ruled over. Crowns and wreaths typically meant Belethrenic, as Emil was familiar with. A few rare banners were sprinkled in the convoy of carriages: mythical creatures of Tabrini and fruits with bold red and gold colors of Ésbel, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo’s kingdom.

“Is it so necessary to, like, know the names of flags, Master?”

“Maybe not _necessary_ ,” Emil admitted, “but if you want to act polite and informed, it’s practically the nobility’s job to know about them. Let’s say you saw someone flying a banner with crowns. The crowns might be a hint, but you might not know that it was the banner of royalty. You wouldn’t want to offend someone of noble status.”

“What’s your family’s banner?”

“Steilssons fly a Crodinian Cross with a gyrfalcon and dragon flying on opposite sides.”

Leon smiled again. “Your people must like dragons.”

“You can say that.” The prince spun his ring. It felt a little loose today.

When reaching the capital, Emil and Leon first departed for the food stalls. The prince was eager to show his pet the variety of food his kingdom had to offer. They feasted on cod skewers, candied turtlecorns, sugar puffs, cheese pastries, marinated hare, roasted pheasant, buttered sweet breads, sugared apples, and countless samples of fruits, nuts, and cheeses. Emil felt that he had eaten a greater amount than he had during his birthday feast. It must have been the mood, he thought. The air was alive with festivities, and he had a companion at his side though it all.

Leon was faring better than Emil. He ate a large deal more and looked to still have room for sweets. Emil, meanwhile, could have burst on the spot, and he bade them rest on benches under the shade of gazebos. Other attendees sat near them, though they paid the prince and his pet no mind. Sometimes it was good to hide in the shadows of his brother and king.

“How are you still hungry?” Emil’s mouth was agape staring at Leon chewing away at a skewered sausage.

“During the war—” Leon swallowed and took another bite “—I never knew where or when my next meal was going to be. And this is good.”

Emil could not help but smile. “I’m glad—not about the war; I’m glad that you like it.”

Having finished eating and taken the time to rest, Emil suggested they look at some of the attractions before returning for the afternoon tourney. Fire dancers wove spells of colorful flames into tapestries. Beast tamers could be seen performing under tents or out in open fields, showing off their collection of wild magical creatures, griffins, chimeras, and lesser wyverns. Castobats, with their mastery of weightless spells, appeared to fly through the air, their costumes adorned with long ribbons to add flourish to their already spectacular performances.

“There is no such thing as a true levitation spell for humans,” Emil told Leon when the castobat show ended. “You can only make yourself so weightless. You’re still at the mercy of gravity.”

“Can you cast that spell, Master?”

“No,” Emil wistfully sighed. “It requires stamina and concentration my body and mind lack. I think such spells are also inherent. Even if I were capable, I’d be useless without the right bloodline.”

“So, like, your healing fire is from your parents?”

“Sort of,” Emil said, hushing his pet and lowering his voice, as well. “Sometimes magic in its own nature is passed down through a parent to a child; other times the child bears a combination of two magics. My brother is one such child. I…I’m sure you’ve seen him use it before.”

Leon’s face darkened.

“Well,” Emil hoped to tide his pet’s mind away from the morbid memory, “I, er, think I received some healing magic from my mother and the fire from my father.”

Leon, while not fully recovered, carried into the conversation. “Your father rules the islands across the ocean, right?”

“Yes. Sveinn Steilsson is high lord of the Islands of Morstur.”

“Is he lord of the cold islands because he knows how to use fire?”

Emil was not sure if Leon had asked that in jest, but it certainly was an underlying factor that contributed to his ancestors’ rise in power. He felt little need in divulging too much of his family’s history so early in their relationship, however.

“My father doesn’t know how to use fire.”

“Oh.” Leon looked unsurprised.

“The magic skips generations. Several, sometimes.”

“Yet your family still stays in power?” Leon had finished eating. His hands were pristinely folded in his lap like an eager yet patient scholar absorbing the Crodinian’s words.

“Yes, our lordships are passed by blood.” Emil mentally sorted through his knowledge on Altorienese monarchy. “But your royal family is—was the same, wasn’t it? It’s always been the Wangs.”

He watched his pet let out a low yawn. His body must have been catching up to all the food it needed to digest. “There are many Wangs. Almost all Altorienese have the Wang surname. Even those who are—taken in? Is that the right word…? Taken in by the royal family take on the Wang name, not their original true. It’s totally likely that a couple of the emperors were not from the same bloodline.”

The prince had read about this sort of practice in the empire before, though he wondered if it was necessary to adopt the Wang name if they were vetted into rule anyway. Although, name aside, perhaps it would be for the best, as it would mean only the most potential candidate would be allowed to rule the empire.

“Tourney at the Green Maw in half an hour’s time!” someone billowed from afar. A buzz of excitement stirred in the air, and, while subtly done, a wave of people began moving for the open edge of the capital city.

“We should go watch,” Emil said. He stood and beckoned his pet follow him. His coachman was stationed by an inn at the edge of the fairgrounds. With some maneuvering through the streets and alleys, he and Leon found their way to their carriage and started off for the Green Maw once more.

The returning trip was filled with more carriages, riders, and pedestrians than before. Banners flew through the air, so much so that Emil could not take the time to name them all. He noticed grooves worn into the grass where carriage wheels drove over. Deep markings from horse hooves also wore into the earth. When the day was over, the landscape mages would cast spells of nourishment to let the soil and grass rise for tomorrow. It would continue until the Red Summer was over.

When arriving, Emil and Leon found their seats at a different position than before, raised higher and further from the center of the open valley, as new booths and bleachers had been installed around a grand ellipse. Horses had paved a flattened strip of earth for jousting opponents, and a short but sturdy fence sat in the center.

“So what, like, is this?” Leon asked when observing the line of men and mounts.

“It’s a sport adopted from Tabrini,” Emil explained. “Two horsemen ride toward each other and try to knock the other off his horse.”

His pet wrinkled his thick brow. “Doesn’t it sound, I dunno, boring?”

Emil stiffened. Thank the gods Lukas and Mathias were not here. Lukas may not have found jousting interesting, but he respected that the sport was a favorite pastime of his people. Mathias, though he personally favored swordsmanship more, loved watching this. “Leon, you shouldn’t say such things aloud,” he warned.

"No one’s listening.” It was true. The cacophony from the spectators was much too loud to listen to a single conversation without selective hearing.

“That doesn’t mean someone like you should share that kind of opinion to me in public. You shouldn’t even have the privilege of knowing what jousting is.”

Leon fell silent at the sound of approaching voices. Mathias and Lukas had arrived, taking stride atop their raised seats for full vantage of the jousting grounds. The Shadow leaned to his brother and noted the trail of crumbs sticking to his sleeve. Emil embarrassedly brushed them away.

“You should have said something,” the prince grumbled to his pet.

“I thought Crodinians _relished_ in everything the festival offers—crumbs, too.” If Leon meant it as sarcasm, Emil was a poor judge of his tongue; he was still no better at detecting when his own brother was being sincere or not.

“Welcome to the Grand Tourney of the Red Summer!” Mathias’ voice swept across the Green Maw and touched the ears and hearts of his subjects. “We’ve a fine cast of able and strong competitors joining us today—but not as fine as me!” A ring of laughter echoed in the bleachers. Lukas’ eyes could have rolled into his brain. “Jokes aside, I look forward to seeing some great action and technique out there! Here’s to the best Grand Tourney ever! Nine blessings, everyone!”

Agreeing subjects roared and cheered, echoing the nine blessings. It was a more fervent atmosphere than the archery tournament, to be sure. Several banners decorated the seats, and tongues of dialects and languages all over the continent of Eliatha buzzed in colorful symphony. A quintet of horns blared a starting sound. The jousting tourney officially began.

The first rounds featured lesser Crodinian nobles mixed with competitors from all over Eliatha, not just relegated to lesser houses. After the Sunset War, border customs had relaxed and invited foreigners to participate—barring Bävmek, it seemed. The prince even saw Tabrinnish and Arbrenith riders holstering trimmed longswords and rapiers. The participants were all given dulled weapons and their armor blessed with protection, though everyone was permitted to bring their preferred gear, with some restrictions, of course.

“In cases where both riders are knocked down, they engage in a duel,” Emil explained to Leon. “You’re allowed to carry whatever weapon you want during that phase. Whoever yields loses.”

“That’s fair?” Leon sounded piqued by that.

“Well, the weapons are dulled with spells and their armor is granted barrier charms. So no accidents happen, you know. It used to be that you could fight however you wanted, but a prince was killed during one Red Summer. His father, the king then, imposed a law that forbade tourneys. When people protested the unpopular decision, he relented to holding them again on the condition all weapons be wood. But, as they found out, wood is clunkier than some steel, and the mages were able to discover a way to cast the dulling spells we use on tourney weapons today.”

“Are you able to use that spell, Master?”

The prince shook his head. “Even if I could, the spell is actually cast onto a potion. The potion is brushed onto a weapon, which gives its edge a dulling effect. You have to fully dispel the effect by using a different potion. We have alchemists who are dedicated to those practices.” He added with a sheepish grimace, “I was never good at my alchemy lessons.”

Cheers and whistling sounded when another victor prevailed, a man of Issao, far south across the warm seas. Fascinating it was, the prince thought, that someone would venture all the way here for a humble tournament. Perhaps he was a traveling swordsman, the kind written in novels and songs.

Others triumphed, too. At the end stood a diverse combination of fighters: Gerald Withers of Foars, Markus Meijer of Stamper, Nils Hansson of Eluvesh, and Wayn Rythes, the man from Issao. The semifinalists approached the front of the running grounds, while the landscapers repaved the trodden dirt. They chose their opponents by drawing colored stones from a concealed box. Gerald would fight Nils; Markus would fight Wayn.

With the final rounds approaching, the common seats were quaking in excitement. The tourney had lasted through the afternoon until the sun crossed the valley. Though it was summer and far from the approach of sunset, tension was in the air. The prince had spotted betting taking place in the barracks, and some drunken men had gotten in fistfights over sore losses. Leon was growing restless, as while he did not have to worry about petty thieves and rowdy peasants, the techniques demonstrated less than impressed him.

Mathias called for an intermission before the semifinals took place, and he bade his husband walk with him to speak with the last competitors. Emil took this opportunity to lead his pet to the food vendors where grilled cobs and breaded pork chops were served. They enjoyed a steaming cob and two helpings of pork chops each, chatting under the shade of canvas tarp.

“What’d you folks do for fun in Altorien, Leon?”

“When it wasn’t trick games and riddles, we’d look for fruits or roots, or we’d, like, spar.”

“Spar? You know how to use a blade?”

“No. Fists.”

“That’s right,” Emil recalled, “your people are good in all sorts of combat, weapons and martial arts.”

“They’re not my people, Master,” Leon said with a hint of distaste. “I don’t have to be one of you, but I’m not one of them.”

The prince blinked his lilac eyes. “You’re Altorienese, though, aren’t you?”

“I look it,” Leon acknowledged, however with neither warmth nor pride. “I was born one, but I’m _not_ one, if that makes any sense.”

“I’m not sure, Leon.” Emil nibbled a few kernels of his corn. “Do you hate Altorien?”

“I don’t love it,” he coldly replied.

“I’m sorry, Leon.” It was an empty apology. The prince did not care if Leon hated Altorien, so as long as he appreciated what he had in Crodinia. Why though, he wondered? Was it because he was Leon’s owner, or because he, himself was Crodinian?

“You don’t need to be sorry for me, Master.” Leon rose, his snacks finished long before Emil’s. “I would have liked my thoughts to be like yours.”

“Thoughts?” Emil pondered Leon’s wording; his pet’s Crodinian was still green. “My attitude, you might mean?”

“Attitude?” Leon tried out the word. “Your…attitude is, like, you love the people as you do your kingdom. You don’t have to, yet you do. If things were different—my attitude was different—we would have never met. But I’m glad we did, Master.” He was smiling. Fondly.

“If you are, then I am, too,” Emil smiled in turn.

When the pair returned to watch the finishing tourney, the first riders were in position. Markus Meijer of Stamper waved a lilac-purple banner of tulip wreaths over his steed’s flank. His armor was adorned with spirals of gold that glittered even in the dull Crodinian overcast. Shades of purple, Emil informed his pet, were a sign of nobility or royalty. The dyes were rare and prized in the continent, so for one to fly the color meant they had to have come from a well-off family.

Wayn Rythes of Issao did not carry a banner. The people of Abren did not hold noble titles or houses as its northern neighbors did; rather, clans populated the arid region, not bound by blood but by oath. Arbren valued wit and strength above all else.

A quintet of horns blared, and the mounts took off. Spectators gripped their seats, women gasped, and men stared as the lances drew near their opponents’ shields. Then, with a loud hollow clunk, metal hit metal, and the barrier spells took effect. The blows sent both men sailing off their saddles and to the ground, where they immediately drew their weapons—Markos wielding a broadsword and Wayn a curved sword with a thick edge like a crescent moon.

The crowd held their breath as the swordsmen dueled, parrying each other with practiced styles native to their homelands, the Belethrenic method more familiar to Emil. Mathias could have exploded from the excitement had Lukas not been there to hold him back with a cold touch. The king’s feet were tapping in a comical dance, and his hands were gripping his chair so tightly that Emil feared the wood would splinter under his strength.

“Your Majesty, control yourself,” Lukas whispered. The spectators were yelling through the addictive energy, but Mathias had somehow heard his husband through all the ruckus. He flash a coy smile at his beloved and reclined into his seat, the wide smile never leaving his face.

Even Leon seemed fascinated by the duel. This was the first time in the tourney that two men had successfully knocked each other off their horses. Now that they were engaged in personal arms against each other, his eyes were fixed on the match, darting wherever steel clashed against steel.

The prince could hear the sound of barrier spells absorbing the blows. A muted hollow gong echoed in his trained ears. It was not going to last forever, he knew. The armor would only last so long before the spells would wear off, and then the only thing protecting flesh from steel would be whatever strength the armor still had.

 _Swish! Slash! Clang!_ The pitches of weapons and armor were different, but the rhythm bore a familiar tune to the prince’s ears. Markus grunted and dug his heel into the earth. He had blocked a downward strike from Wayn and was doing everything he could to brace himself. His armor heavier, he was starting to feel the pressure of the fight. He would need to finish off his opponent before the charm wore away, as did his energy.

With a roar, the Belethrenic lunged out from his braced stance and shot towards the Arbren. All eyes watched a swift kick came up from under his exposed torso, sending him flying off course from his initial path. Markus reeled into the trodden ground, the sticky dirt hugging his armor like paste and slowing him just enough that he could not escape. The crescent blade flew towards his throat.

“I yield!” he yelled in hoarse Belethrenic. Steel floated millimeters from his sweat-glossed skin. The crowd took a short breath and erupted in applause. Wayn Rythes of Issao was advancing to the finals.

“That was amazing!” Mathias beamed and clapped. “Marvelous!” His husband quietly nodded in approval.

Preparations were made for the next round. The landscapers leveled the running grounds, and the stable boys prepared the mounts for Gerald and Nils. Gerald Withers of Foars brandished a banner of patterns waves, a hint that his house might have resided close to the sea in Tabrini. Nils Hansson road atop his dapple gray stallion, flying a weave of swords tied by a string of flowers.

“Eluvesh is in northern Belethren,” Emil explained to Leon. He turned briefly to Lukas’ eyes for confirmation, though he did not hear him. “They have mountains rich in metals. That’s what made them so powerful and wealthy. Except…they don’t really do the fighting.”

“No?” Leon looked up.

“No, they let the capital and traders forge and sell off weapons to make profits. But because they’re the suppliers, it’s hard to make enemies of them, since without them, there’d be no weapons.”

“People haven’t attacked Eluvesh with their own weapons?” Leon thought to ask.

“The Eluveshi have a technique passed only to them. It’s similar to how specific forgers in Thursaunia know how to make Azielan steel. That said, it’s funny how the man’s surname is Hansson…”

“Why’s that?”

“That’s a Crodinian name. Maybe he’s mixed blood?”

Leon smirked. “Does it matter to you people?”

Emil caught himself. “No, not really…Maybe it feels different because there’s no Crodinian semifinalist this year.” Leon hummed and sat back as the horns sounded the start of the round.

Unlike the previous round, this was a short and clean fight. It took three exchanges of jousting before Nils took a lance full in his shield and fell from his horse. Gerald Withers would advance and fight against Wayn in the finals. From a booth, several pieces of paper and shouting collected in a lumped and chaotic crowd. Leon had been staring at them for a while, but this was the first time he had seen the booth so fevered.

“Master, what’s happening over there?” He pointed to the booth across the field.

“That’s a betting booth, I think,” Emil answered, squinting. “People guess on who will win, and they put coins down for a ticket—it’s a slip of paper—to keep track of. If someone guesses the winner correctly, they earn their money back plus some extra from those who guessed incorrectly.”

Leon nodded in understanding. “We had that back in Altorien. The Arbrenith enjoyed betting on us.” Emil did not need to ask him what he meant by that.

At long last, the eve of the final battle was underway. Spells were cast, fields were mowed, and horses and lances readied. The opposing men stood on far ends of the bowled valley, a fervor rising with the finale underway. The booths quieted down, so much so that Emil could hear the bleachers creaking from the spectators’ seats.

The horns raised in the air and blared a low melody. The jousters were off. The horses kicked their hooves into the firm earth and littered the grass with prints once more. The lances were poised and angled, drawing nearer and nearer towards their opponents’ shields. Emil held his voice in his lungs. They were closing in. Ten meters…five, four, three, two…one…

_Clang!_

A deafening ring of metal and wood erupted in the bowled valley. Gerald and Wayn both staggered on their mounts, reeled back from their forward-leaning postures, but neither had budged. They rode past one another and rounded their horses to opposite ends again. Emil let out a short breath. The horns sounded again. And again, they were off, riding closer to one another. Again, they faced their lances forward, inching closer, moving faster.

_Co-Clong!_

It was a more hollow sound. Emil recognized the sound of the dulling spells working their magic. How many more times would they hold, he wondered?

The finalists rode again, and again they struck. They rode at each other a fourth time. A fifth time. Each and every round, the sound of shields grew louder and swollen with echoes. They spectators were getting impatient. Few would have betted that they would last this long on their mounts. They wanted action.

So by the sixth charge, the bleachers were screaming. But the horses had tired, and the jousters were growing fatigued. It should not have lasted six times. Nor seven. But, as Emil’s uncle had once said, seven was a lucky number, and by the seventh charge, a loud echo exploded in the middle of the field, and a shockwave knocked the horses backwards, both on their hind legs. The men went tumbling down into the trodden dirt. After seven rounds, the earth was no longer firm. One of the horses, Gerald Withers’ from the wave pattern on the saddle, let out a shrill whinny before falling onto its back, crushing its rider with a thick wet sound.

Someone screamed. Withers’ horse flailed and kicked in pain and confusion. Its armor rattled noisily with the rest of its fallen body. It must have broken its ankle, having slipped in the softened ground. There would be no duel. The Tabrinnish was hopelessly crushed under the weight of his steed.

Lukas jerked to the king. “Mathias—”

“Wayn Rythes is the winner!” the king quickly shouted. Even if Wayn had not been knocked down, he would have overcame his incapacitated opponent in an instant. Clerics rushed to the scene with stablemasters. One cleric sedated the fallen horse with a sleeping spell. With luck, the healers would be able to save its leg and a costly investment on a tourney mount. The stablemasters pulled the horse away from its rider, and in that moment, someone shouted for the clerics to make haste.

Leon, who had been watching the fight in total silence, at last spoke up. “What happened, Master?”

The prince stood and squinted his eyes. He saw first the gathering of medical staff tending to the contestant, then to the jousting weapons. There had been a shockwave, alright. The shielded armor that Gerald Withers’ horse had been wearing had bent at an angle when the riders collided. A strip of the thin metal must have lodged itself in a vital location upon Withers’ unprotected body. The prince wished he could make out what was going on, but he knew better than to rush out at his brothers’ expense.

“Huh,” Lukas said, emotionless. “The horse’s armor cut his throat. Hope it’s not an artery.”

A woman rushed to the tourney from the bleachers, screaming and crying in a frantic state. Demands and incoherent sobbing fled her lungs. A family member? A friend? A lover? It was too hard to tell her age from a distance, but Gerald clearly meant something to her.

“Oh gods…” Mathias breathed. He left his seat and proceeded down to the center of the maw, perhaps to settle everyone down, perhaps to carry out orders.

“Emil, stay here,” Lukas ordered, rising and making his way to Mathias. He gave a warning look to his brother before leaving. “The clerics can take care of this.”

The prince stiffened and held fast in his seat. “Understood…”

Leon flashed a glance when Lukas was out of hearing range. “Can you heal others like you can yourself?”

His master flinched, his hands tight. “I can, Leon,” he quietly admitted, “but no one’s supposed to know that, only the kings.”

“And me,” Leon added, puzzled. “Why?”

“You are…as an Altorienese pet, few would even look at you. As for why, those with powers that surpass intended abilities are considered ‘special’ in this kingdom and others. Fire is a magic of destruction, yet I am able to use it to heal. At an early age, my father told me to keep my ability concealed from the public, in case someone were to use my magic for their advantage.”

“It’s a good power, isn’t it?” Leon thought aloud. “And where I come from, fire doesn’t just destroy. It creates.”

Emil shyly smiled. “If the Altorienese think that, maybe I should’ve been born one.”

Leon smiled back, more of a smirk than a soft curve of his mouth. “You wouldn’t have lived, Master, not the way you are. I like the way you are now.” Had they not been in the company of the common populace, Emil might have had the humility to blush.

Mathias had taken control of the incident. He quickly ordered Withers to be carted to the infirmary, the best clerics staying with the Tabrinnish should the worst happen. The woman who had rushed to him from earlier also went with them; apparently she was his sister who had traveled across the ocean to watch him fight. Wayn Rythes was granted the grand bounty of ten suns. The bleachers were slowly emptied after everyone collected their bet winnings, and the landscapers once again set to work restoring the Green Maw. It was as though tragedy had never befallen the summer.

The jousting tourney was the last event on the Green Maw for the day. In the evening, there would be a night festival filled with fire dancers, singers, and great dancing pits of music and feasts. Everyone would put the incident of the jousting tourney behind them and move on with the rest of the festivities.

Lukas had ridden ahead with Mathias to the infirmary, as goodwill towards residents from a foreign yet allied land. Emil was free to do as he pleased, so as long as Leon was with him. They were still at the Green Maw when the commonfolk began to disperse.

“Since we’re here,” Emil said, “I thought I’d take you to the edge of the ocean.”

“You’ve shown it to me before,” his pet reminded him.

“Yes, but not from the valley.” Their coachman rode them roughly a kilometer out to the edge of the Green Maw. Further beyond, the valley was too steep to traverse by carriage, and the prince and his pet resolved to walking the rest of the way.

Here, the earth was undisturbed by farming, horses, or other walks of life. The soil was too rocky and barren to grown crops, and the slopes and weather made it inhospitable to live on. However, hardy strains of wildflowers and carpeted tungrass thrived here, and so despite the valley’s edge being unusable, it was wonderful to behold its sights.

Emil led his pet to the top where the edges dropped out to the ocean and its winds. Sharp gusts blew from all the way to the west, from the Blizzarding Seas. If traveling seabirds had been riding the currents, they might have even passed his birthplace on the way to the mainland, from the Islands of Morstur.

“There’s a name for the winds that blow from the Blizzarding Seas,” Emil said, sweeping his arms out. The winds tickled his fingers and lifted his cape. He wished he had castobat powers, so that he might fly with the currents. “We call them _dracay_ , breath of the sea. It’s a cold wind, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Leon needed not be told twice.

“Those further inland would say that the _dracay_ brings misfortune to the lands here, because the cold makes the earth hard, and the springs and summers short and dark. Crodinia believes that it gave us identity, shaping us as people who built ourselves from ice and snow.” Emil lowered his arms to his sides, the breeze still catching in his garments and whistling in his ears. “Of course, that’s what the mainlanders say.” He looked ahead at the ocean. It was gray today, and one could scarcely make out a roll of clouds and mist looming in the distance. “It’s different for those of the Islands of Morstur. We’ve fire and ice in our veins. Before we were a part of the kingdom, no one could remember where we came from. The Blizzarding Seas were practically impenetrable until weather mages could cast spells to cut through the storms. Because of that, many think we were forged from fire and ice directly, like magic.”

Leon stood beside his master and felt the wind, only he did not stretch his arms out. His hair longer, his bangs caught the winds and blew back in a mangled dark mass. His eyes were completely visible now. “Master, are you feeling alright?”

The prince’s lips stretched in a thin line. His gaze lowered to the ocean below. “I could have helped that man at the tourney,” he frowned. “You may not remember, but during your time in the infirmary, you were out for a while.” Leon nodded in recollection. “Normal medicinal magic speeds up the process of healing with your own energy. That’s why it took you so long to recover after your punishment. You needed to rest your own energy to heal yourself.

“ _My_ magic—cold fire—works differently than common healing magic. It heals outright, and it heals infinitely and instantly, without strain on the body. A wound like today…I don’t know if that man will be able to make it with only the spells of our clerics. He was exhausted.”

Leon studied his master. His eyes, while exposed, were difficult to read. “I can’t say he’ll be fine, but people are stronger than they look.”

“Sometimes,” Emil added.

“You don’t think you’re strong, Master?”

“My strength…it makes me weak, Leon.”

“I don’t get it.”

“No,” Emil sadly smiled, “but I’ll tell you about it someday.”

Leon’s eyes fell to his master’s hands. They were twisting at his ring. It appeared the prince would have wanted them to go back to the capital, but he felt his master needed to be here in this moment. He was still unsure of the Crodinian ways of consolidation. Would they embrace each other in comfort the way the Shadow did, or would they simply brush along their cheek or arm like they had back home? Not that he had received much genuine affection for himself, nor could he really call Altorien home.

No, Leon thought, Altorien had never been his home. It was just a place now. Every string of events that bound him to this life had led him here, and for the first time, he liked where he was. He felt as though he might be able to call this place a true home.

They stayed there a while longer, until the afternoon grew late. There was something dark on Emil’s mind, but he decided he had no business confiding it with his pet. Even if he did, Leon would not understand the words he was saying. He took a few more minutes to look out at the Blizzarding Seas ahead and tore his eyes away. Leon followed without order down the sloped grasses to the carriage. Neither looked back.


	7. His Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a stressful first day, Emil and Leon take the time to slow down and get to know each other.

Emil was quick to learn that caramel waffles of Belethren were a favorite treat of his pet’s. He liked them, too, of course. Who could resist the tantalizing flavor of spiced caramels and butter wedged between two fluffy confectionaries?

“It’s delicious.” Leon looked to be on the brink of tears. His eyes swelled with light catching from the rare summer sun. He must have never tasted anything like this in Altorien.

“I can buy you another if you’d like,” the prince offered.

“No, thank you,” Leon politely declined in perfect Crodinian. “Too many will make this one less special.”

Emil could not help but chuckle at his pet’s consideration. So he wanted to cherish this moment, did he? In that case, he hoped he could share more moments like this with his pet, who was so fond of western delicacies. This was far better than the tourneys.

During the time between leaving the cliffs and now, the ride had been wrought with an uncomfortable silence. Emil did not wish to divulge himself to Leon so soon, not when his Crodinian was developing and the Red Summer in high season. He hoped now, with food of the festivals in their bellies, they might also fill their hearts with mirth.

Emil was able to show his pet his favorite stalls: the smoked pork vendor, the glass feather salesman, and a mysterious book merchant, to name a few. Leon was studying the glass feather quill his master had purchased. The prince had bought it for himself, but he permitted his pet to hold it while he browsed the book merchant’s wares for anything exotic.

Leon had little use for books. To him, books held nothing but words, words that filled its readers with foolish thoughts—thoughts that might have had the power to alter the course of the world, perhaps, but he had had enough of words and thoughts of the dusty and dead. He wanted to relish in the present and think nothing of the future. Living at this pace, even as a pet, was the greatest comfort he could have ever hoped to have.

How funny, he thought, that all the pride and principle he had been raised on had come crumbling down when he had been chosen by the prince. Everything was so simple now: the lessons, the food, the games, the people. The deceit and cynical motivations he had endured all his life had seemingly dissipated in the wind like morning fog.

Leon turned the glass feather in the sunlight. At the right angle, it cast a rainbow on his skin. He brought the feather to his eye, wondering if he might see the world through multiple facets. There was no varying color, however. His attention fell on his master who was still browsing. He wondered what sort of book he might choose. A folktale, maybe, or a passage of history. He wondered if there were spellbooks tucked away in the merchant’s wares, although being Altorienese, he had no reason to dabble in magic.

The prince was beaming when he returned to his pet. He brandished a leather bound book embossed with silver leaf with ocean waves and sea serpents. Crude though the art was, there was a definite dedicated care invested in the cover’s construction. The binding was solid and the leather cured and stored in such a way that it did not scar or crack from the elements.

“ _Tales of the Serpent’s Voyage_ ,” the prince announced to Leon. “It’s about a man cursed to wander the seas as a sea serpent until he learns to express true courage and charity.”

A folktale, then, Leon thought, amused. He had grown tired of objective jargon from his upbringing. Something in the form of a story would do him some good. He found himself strangely drawn to his master’s enthusiasm when he read aloud; it was as though the ink and paper were the key to his window to the outside world. Most of the words were difficult to discern even with context, but he listened and asked the prince what difficult Crodinian words meant whenever came the chance.

“When I finish our other book, I can read this one to you—if it’s alright.”

Leon withheld himself from laughing. “You’re the one who chooses what to do, Master.” He caught the prince’s cheeks flushing with warm color. It was funny, he thought, that a western prince would consider an Altorienese’s feelings at all. Part of it felt comforting that his master was so humanizing towards him, and yet he believed his consideration made him exasperatingly weak. Had the prince been born into Altorien royalty, he would have been eaten from the inside out and left a shell of himself.

That was what Leon could not understand: his master was so damnably pitiful. He had little to no personal assertiveness, his magical prowess was unimpressive, his physical stature was like paper, and his social limitations were restricted to his brother, the king, and Leon himself, never mind that he had family elsewhere in the kingdom and did not seem to visit. And yet in spite of all this and his feeble existence, Leon felt a strong need to protect him. He wondered if it was because he had an obligation as a pet. But then, if that were true, he should have simply jumped in the way of that Shadow’s dark ice and allowed himself to be shattered.

No, Leon thought. He still had his pride. So why, then, was he so drawn to his master? The fact that he was alright with addressing the prince as his master bothered him, especially given that the prince was so weak. He almost wondered if his pitiable state was what made him so attracted to him. In Altorien, underling rebellions were common among those who lacked wit, money, and power. Isolated from his connections stemming from his brother, the prince had no authority to call his own. He was utterly alone in the capital, and before that, he must have been severely dependent on his brother.

“Leon, shall we head back?”

“I’ll follow you wherever you go, Master.” _Silly prince, asking for permission again_ , Leon thought, yet as he trailed behind the lonely prince with snow white hair and curious lilac eyes, he began to realize that the answer to his question may not have been so complicated after all.

* * *

When the prince and his pet returned to the castle, the coachman unloaded their festival-bought goods and allowed some of the servants to deliver parcels and trinkets to their respective places. The prince’s glass feather quill would go to the study, his storybook to his chambers, the package of parchment to the library, and so forth. Having just eaten, there was naught left to do in the dining hall or the courtyard, as the castle was teaming with too many noble guests touring the capital grounds to enjoy solace.

Leon watched his master ponder what to do with their free time. After the end of the Red Summer, it would be back to dull hearings and studies on politics and economics. Prince Emil was to be the next lord of the Islands of Morstur after his father passed lordship over to him. Though the islands sounded (and probably were) insignificant, much like their lord-to-be, knowledge of domestic and foreign relations was crucial to his people’s survival. The islands were dependent on supplies and income from the mainland, and to keep exports moving, relationships needed to be forged and maintained.

The image of being by his master’s side while he handled those affairs was something the Leon could do without, but it was better than having to sleep in the mud and scavenge for worms and beetles. Hopefully when that time came, his master would not have gotten bored of him being an older Altorienese. He had heard stories of pets being kept for show or as a collection like one might dolls or art. Some were not so fortunate to be adopted for displaying—they had been used for deathly sport or pillow warmers. For that, Leon was grateful for his master’s meek and kind-hearted nature.

At last, the prince decided to prepare themselves for stargazing. There was still plenty of light out, and with summer on the horizon, the days would grow longer. Leon looked forward to when that would happen. However, until that did, his master wanted to look at the stars. They were to prepare charted maps and calibrate instruments to the time of year, so that they might easily locate specific constellations.

The prince told his pet they were searching for the Dragonstar, a constellation that looked like a serpent-like dragon whose mouth spread agape to swallow the moon—in the fall. What was normally an easy and popular constellation to spot in the cooling months was trickier to find in the early summer without instruments. Leon asked if they could ask an astronomer to pinpoint the Dragonstar for them, but his master insisted that they manage the task themselves. “I want to be able to do this on my own,” he said, assembling his looking glass and charter book. The lookout tower they stationed themselves in had a biting wind, but a spell of warmth protected their bodies from shivering. He handed the looking glass over to Leon so that he might look through the world beyond—or closer.

“You’re so large,” Leon joked, as he looked through the smaller end, studying his master's features. This made his master laugh. He moved the looking glass from the prince and craned his neck to the heavens above. He had seen these same stars in Altorien. In his land of birth, he may have gazed at the distant lights a handful of times, but to see the stars with such clarity and in the calm presence of his master made him feel at peace.

Peace. He never thought achieving this feeling would be possible. Once poisoned from torment and torture, he had never hoped to find any salvation, save death. He had wandered, bitter, cynical, hateful. And yet here he sat. A brush of a hand grazed the back of his palm. His master’s touch was so tender and full of life, a sad life with its secrets, no doubt, but more unsullied than any Leon had ever encountered before.

“I found it!” his master exclaimed. He extended a finger to the horizon. A collection of stars fell closer to the earth than those Leon had been looking at from above. “There, you see? The line of bright stars?”

Leon let his master guide his looking glass until it fell upon a string of stars aligned like a serpent swimming through a sea of galaxies. At the far left was a gaping mouth that stretched outward to an empty abyss. Come fall, the moon would settle to its mouth, signaling the arrival of shorter days and longer nights.

“I see it, Master.”

His master excitedly scanned through his charter map for another constellation. His eyes fell to one with an illustration of a six-tailed phoenix, the Winged Firebringer, it was called. “This one’s not so difficult to find. Let’s look for this one.”

Studying the star patterns, Leon took his eyes from the looking glass and searched the stars for a line of six branching cosmic trails. Above, he found what looked to be the constellation and called for his master to confirm it.

“You did it, Leon,” the prince beamed. Leon smiled at his own prospects. _Master is kind and patient. I’m never afraid, never hungry, never lonely._

“…Leon?”

“Hmm? Yes, Master?”

“Is something the matter? You look like something’s on your mind.”

“Nothing, Master.” Leon maintained his smile. “Thank you for your concern.”

The prince placed a gentle hand on his shoulder; it was light and frail like the rest of his constitution. “I’m not good at consoling others, but I would like it if there was anything I could do for you. It’s my duty to take care of you.”

“I’m fine, Master, really. I should be the one taking care of you.”

His master wore a concerned look, but he released his hold on him and the matter. “I want you with me when I become a lord,” he said, firm. “I need someone to keep me grounded.”

Leon furrowed his brow. “You told me you had no blood of castobats.”

His master airily laughed. “Not like that. It means I will be myself and sane. There are many responsibilities that come with being a lord, but when I’m with you, it’s as though I can really be myself, and my responsibilities go away. Maybe it’s because you don’t know me.”

“I want to know you, Master.”

“You don’t want to, Leon, but you deserve to know.”

“...Then, what's your favorite food?”

The prince blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You told me I deserve to know, so I'm asking you what your favorite food is. And knowing will make me know about you.”

He saw a look on his master’s face that he had not seen before. Amidst his blushing and loss of composure, he thought he saw something else, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. It was better this way, Leon had to tell himself. Nothing would come from sharing the emotion.

“O-Oh. Then, maybe smoked mackerel. Or star cake…? It changes. I suppose whatever my mother makes is good, too.”

“Your favorite color?”

“Violet, I suppose,” the prince blushed. “Everyone says it compliments my mother’s eyes.”

“ _Your_ eyes,” Leon said, “but it’s a good color on you. You spoke twice of your mother. What kind of person is she?”

“Quiet and graceful.” The prince’s eyes wore a nostalgic gaze, as if looking to a place unseen by all but him. “She’s every bit of virtue a mother could possibly possess, but she’s always been of weak health. She lives with Father these days. I’ve not seen her in years.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I do. I miss her voice and her smell and the way she smiled. She made me feel like I was home.”

Leon cocked his head to the side. “You wouldn’t call this your home?”

The prince laughed, though it sounded more forced than before. “Funny you ask. This place's been my home longer than my birthplace. It must have been because it never felt natural to me. And…what about you? Does this place feel like home?”

“It's more home to me than any place I’ve ever lived in,” came Leon’s answer.

The prince stared. “Your Crodinian’s been coming along. I should be able to ask you of some things, too.”

“It’s only fair,” Leon agreed.

“Where from Altorien did you come?”

“Southeast,” he said, “on an island called Jiaqer.”

His master hummed in thought. “That island belongs to Tabrini now.”

“I know.”

“Sorry,” the prince apologized, “I didn’t mean to imply anything." 

“It’s alright, Master. If you didn’t ask, I would have forgotten about it.”

“Do you want to forget?”

“I do, but in a way, the place I came from gave me the opportunity to meet you.”

His master blushed in the darkness. “I…Um, Leon, I want to ask you, do you think I’m a good master? Or—are you happy with me?”

“I'm happy, and you’re a good master.” Leon hesitated to add the next part, “Maybe too good.”

The prince blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

"You're too patient with me. On my journey here, I’ve heard stories of other masters. They aren’t so kind with their pets. They do bad things.” If he was to be honest with the prince, he may as well have told him all the truths. “When I was brought into your care, I wondered what sort of person you were, like, going to be. Were you someone who enjoyed hurting, trickery, sport? I was afraid. I thought you were a ghost that night; you were so pale. But you do none of those bad things. You’re not a bad person. Even if you were hiding it, I would have known by now.”

The prince fell quiet. “I see. That’s what you think of me.” Leon gave pause, wondering if he had said too much or pried too deeply, but his master thanked him. “I’m grateful you told me this, Leon. If my own pet can see I’m weak, then I just need to be stronger—or better at hiding myself.” He deeply sighed. “I still have a lot to learn about how I carry my image.”

“I'll see you through it, if you would have me,” Leon offered.

There it was again, that fleeting emotion so subtly displayed upon his master’s visage. Leon’s heart throbbed. He had not had that look cast onto him in many years, and even when it had been, it had been through deceitful motivations. However, when shown on this little prince, it was the warmest thing imaginable. He wanted to feel it openly, without reserve. A part of him, still, felt that his master had not expressed this emotion to many others. Leon felt special, wanted.

 _Don’t throw me away_ , he quietly pleaded, to his master and whatever gods they worshipped in this cold land.

“Thank you, Leon,” his master said, voice quivering. “I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some background info since we’ve made it this far: Chapters 1-6 were written in 2018, Chapter 6 being completed in December 2018. It wouldn't be until October 2019 that I would find the time to start writing Chapter 7. Yes, I started the rewrites some time ago. It wouldn’t be almost half a year after that for me to finish this particular chapter. There was a lot of fluff I cut out that made this entry being less than 3000 words. (The first two chapters had over 10k words each.) The end result has us getting a direct glimpse into Leon’s point of view, something I hadn’t planned on doing until waaaay later in the story, but alas, here we are! I decided it wouldn't be fair to exclude Leon's thoughts before a certain point in the story.


	8. His Blight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old acquaintance makes an appearance. Leon gets into a spot of trouble. Lukas reflects on his actions.

Emil awoke the following morning of his own accord. He had needed the rest: his body and mind thanked him for it. He threw open his window to let in the crisp morning air and saw that, while not as early as he would have liked to rise, something about the day felt like it would bring forth something different. He liked this, he decided—something to look forward to with someone to share it with.

He wanted to go into the city again. He told as much to his pet when he, too, awoke. He wanted to walk among the people with his pet in tow and see things with new eyes. He would study the people’s mannerisms more closely and watch for their hopes and shortcomings. He would listen as a good lord ought to. He silently hoped someone would be proud.

He suspected his brother and Mathias would be up already. No doubt, where he would find the king, he would find Lukas. The two were seldom far apart and inseparable in spirit. If there were festivities that needed attending to, Lukas would be there accompanying his king. If affairs needed to be taken care of, Mathias was ever present and eager to lend an ear to his advising spouse to take charge and execute. Emil wondered if he would ever have a relationship with someone of that caliber someday. He might have had his pet’s support, but he did not have his council. What good would the council of an Altorienese lap dog be in the eyes of Crodinian commonfolk?

The royal cooks were running their feet off from attending to the castle guests when Emil and his pet made themselves known. Visitors from Arbren to the outreaches of Tabrini flocked and squabbled in the grand dining hall. Shouts from the chefs and waiting staff could be heard ten chambers down, and it was not an hour past daybreak. Vegetables needed picking, sheep needed butchering, the pans needed to be washed, the eggs had yet to be collected, the nobleman from Vesnïn had demanded four helpings of hot cakes and was growing impatient.

The prince made a point to stay clear of the main hall for the rest of the Red Summer as he did every year. He was more relaxed today, there being no tourneys so early in the morning like the archery one. “There’ll be different people today,” he said to his pet, “and I thought I’d show you what breakfast in the capital is like, since we woke up too late yesterday.”

“I’d like that, Master,” Leon politely smiled.

Emil wore a thin cloak over a comfortable tunic he had chosen the night before. Leon wore a darker burgundy doublet with black accents, yet today he had to wear an additional accessory.

“I’m sorry I need to do this,” Emil apologized, securing a bright red ribbon around Leon’s wrist, “but today with the fel’n pits being open, I need to be careful. This is proof that you belong to me.” He adjusted the bow he fastened. “It is too tight?”

“No. It doesn’t bother me.” Leon studied his master. “Your hair needs to be fixed,” he said, noticing a stray tuft of white protruding from above his ear. He reached out and smoothed it, surprised at his own confidence for laying a hand on the prince.

Emil did not pull away or flinch, letting his hair be straightened. “Lukas always told me no manner of spells in Eliatha could fix my hair.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine? There are spells that let you fly in the air and those that bring the dead back into animation, but none to straighten a simple strand of hair.”

“How funny,” Leon said, unlaughing. He did not like the idea of the dead coming back from the grave any more than he liked them when they had been alive.

Adorned and alert, the pair left the chambers and took the usual path to the stables. On their journey over, they had to take a turn through the infirmary, where they ran into none other than Mathias and Lukas, themselves. Allistor was also there.

“…sure to send them a letter with the suns,” Lukas murmured before catching a glimpse of his brother. “Ah. Good morning, Emil. How are you doing today?”

“I’m well. I thought you and Mathias would be somewhere in the city by now. Did you have something to do here?” His brother nearly spoke when a gathering of women shrouded in white veils shuffled past them. They spoke no words as they disappeared around a corner, a trail of ghostly chills left behind in their wake. _Salt nurses._ A shiver ran down Emil’s spine. Their presence could only mean that someone had passed away, and the prince had a strong notion of who it had been. “Oh…Forgive me, I didn’t know—”

Lukas placed a compassionate hand atop his shoulder, its weight light as a feather but heavy of heart. “You couldn’t have, but know this: it was not something you could have helped.”

The prince lowered his head in silence, his gaze following. 

Mathias, who had listened to the whole affair, masked the grim atmosphere with a reassuring smile. “Hey, Ice, it’s alright. He died without pain. His family’s been taken care of. These things happen, but we’ve gotta move on and enjoy the rest of the Red Summer, ya hear? We’ve still got the whole week left, so I don’t want you lookin’ glum.”

 _He could still be alive had I not hid my power_ , the prince thought, but he raised his head and wiped his face clean of his somber expression. “I understand.” He needed to be strong. He could not falter with the loss of a man whose origin was not even that of Crodinia. If he wept at the death of every single person in his land, then he would be too blinded by tears to carry out his duties.

The Ranger King who had stayed silent until now, brought down a hand and ruffled the prince’s hair. “Lighten up, lad. That’s not how ya act this week, aye? Don’t want me last image o’ ya being on the verge o’ tears.”

“ _Last?_ ” Emil repeated in astonishment. “You’re leaving before the week is out?”

“Letter from Ma called me back. I’d brush her off, but it don’t look good to commonfolk if a king ignores the woman who raised ‘im, do it?” He removed his hand from Emil’s mangled hair and patted him hard on the back. “Wish I could've stayed longer, but I did get everything I needed ta get done. Right then, thank ye all fer the hospitality. Gotta set sail early if I’m ta be back before summin’ happens.”

Mathias and Lukas nodded their heads. “Have a safe journey home, friend,” Mathias said, a hint of longing in his voice. “Come back next year—there’s gonna be a place for you in the archery tourney again.” Allistor smiled to the invitation.

“May The Arcane’s winds be good to you,” Lukas said and added, “but that shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it?”

Allistor’s lips spread into a cat-like grin. He tightened his lush wine red and navy blue cape and waved his hand, looking in the prince’s direction. “You take care now, Yer Highness. Stay strong.”

“Th-Thank you, Allistor,” he bowed. “I shall. You do the same.” With that, the Ranger King slipped through the hall and disappeared from sight. The last of the visiting kings was gone just like that, a gust of wind blown in and out.

Mathias and Lukas wasted no time returning to their duties. Mathias going ahead, Lukas stopped only shortly to speak with his brother. “We’re going to be at the fel’n pits if you and your pet wanted to join us. Your pet could perhaps learn to appreciate his standing and what his fate may have otherwise been.”

Emil dryly swallowed. He had seen the fights before. There was blood and screaming and roaring unlike any man or beast could make. Such cries could only belong to the fel’n. But he wondered if this invitation was worth taking. Leon deserved to know. If he was to, indeed, appreciate the luxuries he had been granted, then perhaps it would be in his favor to witness firsthand the cruel side of being a pet.

“I’ll take that into consideration, brother,” he maintained a professional tone. “If I don’t see you there, then I wish you two a good day.”

“Same, Emil,” the Shadow smiled, as if the events that just transpired had never happened.

The same coachman from yesterday took Emil and Leon to the city. The prince could see the waving red banners from the carriage. They made Markal look as if it had caught fire. He shuddered despite its warm appearance.

“Who were those women in white back at the castle?” Leon asked halfway to their destination.

“Salt nurses,” came a low reply. “They aren’t really nurses, coroners more like. When someone dies, they are responsible for taking away the bodies and preparing them for a manner of funeral. Funerals are different for everyone depending on their status and wealth. Mathias’ ancestors have all been buried, while others might be cremated, that is, burned into ashes. Whatever the status, the salt nurses come for all. They wear white so that they might clean where their clothes were soiled, and their veils are said to contain spices and salts to repel odors from rotting flesh.”

“Hmm,” his pet hummed, “didn’t have anything like that in Altorien. We burned everything. Maybe it was different for the emperors. Who knows?”

Emil let out a sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t want either of us to be thinking about it right now. What happened yesterday was unfortunate, but let’s focus on today, alright?”

“If that’s what you wish, Master.”

They arrived in the city some half an hour later. As before, the paved roads swarmed with vendors and flying red banners. From atop the inns and parlors, baskets of red flowers of all varieties showered petals like red snow. Pressing on to a clearing where stables and coaches were held, Emil and Leon departed for a stall with venison. This was what could be considered the upper class part of the city, as the inns housed lords and wealthy merchants, and the knights stood vigilant guard for any rowdy behavior that might befall the streets. Some of the knights recognized the prince and gave a short nod in his direction as they entered a tavern. It was as typical as any Red Summer could be—minus the squad of escorts and his doting brother.

Leon saw Markal through different eyes. He had been in the city a handful of times, yet the sights were still foreign to him: the manner of capes and frilly dresses, the facial features and pink colors of the people, the colorful roofs of buildings, the slighted eyes and sneers he caught when he would pass by what looked like older soldiers. He watched himself with the prince, especially in a crowded location as this, filled with talkative Crodinians, Belethrenics, Tabrinnish, and the like.

He felt that the young master had taken too many liberties with him. He was more companion than animal, having the privilege of learning to read and write Crodinian as well as speak it, and having a comfortable change of clothes and a warm bath to start and end the day. He saw that as they entered the affluent part of the capital, those that he would have once called his people began to show themselves. Bored, submissive, primal, they may very well have forgotten how to be human. Leon wondered if he, too, had the right to call himself a human after what he had been through. The prince, having grown up and seen the customs take place after the war, paid no heed to the other pets. Old and young, pretty and fit, all blended in like accessories in his eyes.

Leon’s master took him to an outdoor café known for serving foods from the other kingdoms during the festival. The smells coming from the cooking area were so wonderful that Leon soon thought of nothing but food and his hunger.

The prince ordered a basket of bread with some eggs, seasoned potatoes, and a pint of ale each. He also ordered a special dish of venison stew, with rich gravy and roots mixed into an aromatic medley. Leon found the flavors more gamey that beef but heavier than poultry or pork. There was a slight tang—tomatoes, he had learned to recognize from eating dishes cooked with the foreign fruit. Only in the castle kitchens were the strange red fruits normally served, as they were close to impossible to grow in harsh Crodinian climates. Tomatoes were popularly exported from Ésbel, the prince had taught him, and Leon could see why they were so sought after. “It’s delicious, Master.” His plate, bowl, and pint were close to being cleared, faster than his dining companion’s.

“I’m glad,” the prince smiled. “Now you know what venison tastes like.” As he ate, a woman—a noble judging by the quality of her dress and the curls in her hair—sat down at a table across from them. Standing behind her was an Altorienese, another pet, no doubt. His hair was slick and neatly groomed, his tunic pristine and fresh with a flare of red. He fed on scraps from his owner, half a roll, the bones from the nearly finished pheasant, crumbs from a blood pudding tart. In spite of the leftovers, he did not look malnourished. The only thing betraying his emptiness was the hollow look in his eyes. Not once did he speak. Not once did his owner say a word to him. He may have never learned Crodinian or indulged in the kingdom’s customs as Leon had.

And yet he looked…comfortable. Leon was loathe to think of the word when he saw an Altorienese like this. The man was not starved of food, absent of a bed, wanting for companionship. It was a simple life to live, so as long as he could entertain his master. What if that was all the prince thought of him as—something to entertain him as long as he provided it with food and shelter?

_As if. If he was like that, he wouldn’t talk with me like a normal person._

Leon quietly finished the rest of his meal, though his appetite had left him. He had learned to clear his plate during his time on the roads, as whatever food he had come across had been precious. Some years ago, he would have refused the meal given to him out of sheer pride and spite. How far he had fallen. 

_Silly_ , he thought _, I was never in a high place to begin with._ He wiped his mouth with his napkin and waited for his master to finish eating. The prince often talked between bites, usually about trivial things like the weather or a book or a place he would like to see. Why, he wondered, did the prince treat him with such familiarity? Surely he had other companions to talk to, did he not? However, in the time he had been under his master’s ownership, he had never come across anyone whom the prince freely conversed with, save for the king and the Shadow. What made him so unique?

“…go watch the tournaments,” the prince’s voice trailed into Leon’s ears. The Altorienese pet snapped to his senses, deducing his master was suggesting joining the king and his Shadow at today’s event. When instructed, he rose from his seat and followed his master away from the tables, taking a last glimpse at the noble’s table, where he saw what his fate might have—or had yet to—become.

The prince’s words filled his ears as they walked. Leon listened and remembered. He recognized the smells of those that the westerners called fel’n. In the Dotriban vocabulary, “fel’n” could describe one who had physically fallen. In describing the Altorienese with the ability of transformation, it meant one who was reduced to another form.

 _Reduced_. Leon could have spat at the word. As much as he disliked those with the blesing, there had been pride in the Altorienese being able to transform, as it indicated a second plane of existence, no matter the beast one took on. How exhilarating it could be to run faster than the wind or fly higher than a mountain! And here the Crodinians were pitting these beings against one another like a cock fight.

 _Serves them right,_ Leon contemptuously thought. _They’re not my people. They’re not_ any _people._

He nearly thought to ask when they were going to see the fel’n fights at the arena when a voice called to their direction.

“Emil, I thought that was you!”

Both the prince and Leon’s heads perked up to see a stout man—or was it a boy?—with a moon-like face approaching them. He looked stocky, Leon noted, either wearing too much for a Crodinian summer or putting on too much weight from bouts of feasting.

“My, you’ve grown!” the man beamed, his cheeks bulging from his boyish smile. He was slightly shorter than the prince, garbed in a thin cape of wool decorated with light blue satin beneath. Höthson, he had to have hailed from, then. His Red Summer garment of choice was a bright red bow fastened in one of his cape pins that made him look childish with his complimented height. He could not have been much older than the prince if at all.

“Tino,” the prince looked surprised, “I never heard word that you were coming this year. Thank you for your birthday gift. Your sculpture sits on my mantle with the others.”

“It’s always a pleasure making them. And who is this?” The one the prince called “Tino” gestured to the dark-haired boy.

“My pet, Leon. Lukas gifted him to me for my coming of age day.”

Leon bowed in silent greeting. His master had told him of someone named Tino Väinämöinen in his lessons. This must have been the very one. If his memory served him correctly, he was the Margrave of Höthson, the head of command who protected the eastern border along The Frigids and Caliger. Leon did not think a man with such responsibility could look so harmless, though he did not express this aloud.

The prince scanned the tables and beyond the streets as if looking for someone. “If you’re here, I would have thought Berwald would be with you.”

“He stayed behind this year. He’s not had the time to get used to his position yet. He’ll join us next year, no doubt.”

Berwald Oxenstierna was the newly appointed Count of Vesnïn after his uncle, the previous count, died in a riding accident. His house’s people were known as the Lions of the North in Crodinia. They were longtime allies of House Höthson and provided military support throughout Crodinia’s lands and seas. Though not related by blood, the prince told Leon that he considered Berwald like an uncle or older cousin, as he valued his steadfast nature and ability to speak with him like an equal. Leon wondered if it was a pity or a blessing that the count was not present, for he had heard that his looks, alone, could render the most able warrior into stone.

“I’d love to chat and dine with you, but I was going to watch the fel’n fights,” said Tino.

The prince gave a light chuckle. “We just ate, anyway. I was thinking of seeing the fights, too. Maybe we can chat on the way?”

“Splendid!” Tino led the way, while Leon’s master beckoned his pet follow. “A lot’s happened since the last letter I sent you.”

Leon tried to listen to their chatter as best he could before he lost track of the context. Alas, Tino’s Crodinian had a different accent than what he was used to in the central Merctun province. His master had informed him that people from Höthson had spoken a different language before being assimilated into Crodinia. There were traces of it spoken in old Thursaunia and western Caliger, but the language, itself, had long since been erased from records, with next to no literary texts to glean words from. 

The three rode the rest of the way to the fel’n pits by carriage, the prince and Tino talking the whole way—Tino more than the prince. The margrave’s voice was bubbly and thick, like one who laughed while trying to swallow a potato whole. There was too much trust in his tone, Leon thought, nothing like the raging calm of Altorienese generals before the storm of battle. He wondered if this margrave carried with him a stormy underside.

Voices and smells Leon thought to have never experienced again swam in an unseen miasma at the fel’n pits. Tall walls erected of wooden spikes and pillars with armed soldiers towered in circles. Contained in the walls must have been where the fights took place, Leon concluded. He felt dizzy. The fights had not started, but he recognized this fervor before a battle: the stench of sweat and heat and the readiness of bloodlust and fear.

 _I’m not one of them_ , Leon reminded himself. He was pampered with attention and care by the fragile pale prince. There was no place among the savage captives for him. Even if he were like the fel’n, such fights would be unsuited for him.

His master beckoned him to stay close. Leon stuck to the prince’s heels and tried his best not to tear his eyes away. Shapes and smells blurred together in clusters. Where the prince walked forward, Leon felt he was swimming against a current of madness. He heard laughter and caught a whiff of spirits before a hard tug of his collar sent him reeling backward. There had not been time for him to react, when he felt someone grab his wrist and tear away at his master’s ribbon.

“Got a pretty one, didn’t we’s?” a voice cackled in low breath. A southern Crodinian accent, Leon recognized from rough lessons he gleaned from his master. He jerked his head to see if anyone noticed him being dragged away, but everyone was so caught up in their own affairs that none paid him any mind. Something went over his head, a bag probably. He should have screamed, but no voice came out. Of course it would not, he helplessly thought. That fearful voice had left him long ago.

He knew not where he was being taken, only that if he did not fight, he would never see his master again. He felt a pair of arms wrap around his in a lock, so he could not swing. Another took him by his ankles. He pulled and wriggled and kicked, but months of traveling in poor conditions had left him deprived of his old strength. Master. He needed his master.

“It’s another boy,” a different, equally gruff voice said. “Not much use fer those—‘less we find the right buyer. Ribbon means he ain’t fel’n either.”

 _Master…_ Leon used the remainder of his strength to try breaking free from the darkness, but something heavy and blunt came down on his head. He saw stars dance. His breath left him, and he fell limp. His mind still moved, his ears still worked. He heard men talking about nobles, fel’n, others…He had been in this position before.

 _Just like last time. No one’s coming for me._ He thought of his past, those he had called family, those who had left him, those who had confined him and placed him into the darkness. He did not want to go back there. His breath felt hot. Something burned inside of him. However, without something to fuel his fire, it soon faded along with his consciousness.

* * *

It took until Emil and Tino had reached the bleachers when the prince noticed something was amiss. “Leon?” He stood atop one of the seats and scanned the horizon for a boy with slick dark hair and concealed golden eyes. “Leon, where are you?”

“Goodness, did you lose your pet?” Tino also helped search, but he did not see the boy within the crowd. “This is the worst place to lose him, Emil.”

“I know,” he quivered. He attempted to conjure a seeking spell, but his magic was limited to the inanimate. Frantic, he called to his pet. Leon would come, he believed. He was certain he would not just run away.

 _Please_ , he begged. _Please answer._

If Leon had responded, his voice was lost in the sea of people. Emil scanned for someone with a bowed head and dark hair, but there were several Altorienese scattered about.

“Leon…” he breathed, panic filling his stomach in a sour bile. “I just looked away for a moment. I—I’m the worst…”

Tino placed a reassuring hand around his shoulder. “There, there. He can’t have gone far. He left with us when we arrived here. Either he just got lost or…” He dared not say the latter. There had been cases of Altorienese being snatched up by poachers and sold to other parts of the continent, far from Crodinia’s reach. He realized if they did not find Emil’s pet soon, they may never see him again.

“Tino. Emil.” A voice dark and smooth came from behind. When they turned, Lukas was standing tall and vacant, but when he laid his eyes upon his brother, he knew something was wrong. “Where is your pet?”

Emil hung his head low in shame. His voice shook when he spoke. “Gone. I took my eyes off him for seconds, and the next thing I knew…” He had learned to speak bluntly to his brother, as much as it pained him to do so. Lukas always found out eventually.

“Your tracking spell,” Lukas spoke, “have you tried it?” When Emil said nothing, he took that as resignation enough that he had made the attempt. "I see. This is no place for a lost pet. With your permission, I’ll find him for you.”

Desperate, Emil consented. “You have my permission, brother…” He did not dare look him in the eyes.

The Shadow flicked his wrist and brought forth a glowing light, rich blue in color. It hovered from his hand and floated outward beyond the festival goers. “Tino, do you wish to come with us? I have a feeling this will be a messy affair.”

The margrave’s eyes hardened with a lowered brow. “I’m going. I feel it’s partly my responsibility Emil’s pet went missing.”

“Suit yourself.” His voice and face darkened. “I hope you brought a weapon with you.”

Lukas’ tracking spell led them behind tents where arms masters stored steel weapons to be used in future tourneys. Steel was forbidden for fel’n fights; there was no need for any traffic here today, yet Lukas took one of the sturdier swords, anyway. When the group turned around the bend, they saw a small group of men—three, they could count, but there may have been more. Behind them, large cages were draped in cloth, big enough to stuff adults into. No sound emanated from the containers.

One of the men rose, spotting them. “Gods damn, the Shadow—!”

He spoke no more as the blade came down on his skull. The sword had cleaved a crevice deep within the man’s head until it sank between his eyes. The Shadow dug a boot into the man’s lifeless face and pulled out his weapon, making a wet crunch, staring dully at the other two. Without a word, he angled his sword and thrust it into the abdomen of another, driving through flesh, muscle, and bone until the second man stopped moving. The Shadow withdrew again and gave a flick of his fingers, a searing violet light flashing and taking hold of the last man’s leg. Dark crystals formed and rendered the man immobile; he tripped over his solid foot and screamed when the Shadow crushed the crystallized limb with a clean hard blow of his blade.

“Now then,” the Shadow’s breath had quickened, yet his demeanor was calm, “you’ll tell me how many pets you’ve gathered here, where you were taking them, how many more there are of you, and who’s in charge. Every time you tell a lie, I’ll cut something else off.”

The poacher’s response came in a slew of grunts and cries. The shock of losing his leg had rendered his speech patterns unintelligible. There was blood pouring from his wound. If it was not treated, he would pass out or die of blood loss in minutes.

“Emil, please seal his wound,” Lukas requested, stepping away for his brother. “And Tino, watch the rear.”

The prince fidgeted, his stomach weak. His blood had run cold. “Are you sure? He’s a normal person…”

“The dead don’t spill secrets—not this one, anyway,” the Shadow said. “Do it before he passes out.”

“R-Right…” He stooped over and chanted the spell from within his heart. A spark of white flames burned through the blood until what remained was a stump. The pain had also subsided, Emil knew, allowing the poacher to calm down for a moment.

“First, your pet should be in that cage there, Emil,” Lukas said, pointing to the one in the corner. He waited for his brother to approach the cage and lift its cloth covering, finding a motionless boy curled in a ball.

“Master—”

Emil murmured a spell of unlocking and undid the lock of the cage. He threw open the door and wrapped his arms around Leon, refusing to let go. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t a good owner. I took my eyes off you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Lukas spoke up in their reunion. “Actually, this is good. We can use your pet later. But we need to take care of this first. Emil, come back this way.”

The two obeyed without question. Emil led his pet behind his brother and squeezed his hand while they watched the interrogation. He noticed the ribbon he had tied around his pet’s wrist was no longer there.

“First,” the Shadow began, “how many did you take during this festival? I imagine this isn’t the first time you’ve done this.”

While the pain in the man’s leg was gone, his adrenaline still stuck. His heart must have been hammering in his chest. “S-Seven this year, Shadow,” he hissed through his teeth. “Others w-we’ve taken are long gone.” The rotting molars in his mouth clacked with fear.

“That makes six more we’ll have to return. Do you realize how much time that wastes my people?” The poacher did not answer. The Shadow continued. “Next question: where were you planning on taking these pets?”

“Tabrini,” came an immediate answer. “I don’t know more than that—Cut my arm or other leg off, but I swear by the gods I can’t tell ya ‘cause I don’t know…!”

The Shadow stared, the spell of hearts taking effect. “Huh. You really don’t. Alright, that brings me to my third question: who’s in charge of these Altorienese kidnappings?”

The poacher spat on the ground. “Fuck…Yer gonna kill me anyway. Be done with it.”

“Please,” the Shadow rolled his eyes, “this is the Red Summer. We’re at peace. I tire of using my energy for violence. For both our sakes, I suggest you tell me the truth. I’ll extract them from you one way or another.”

Emil clung to his pet’s arm. He had never bore witness to his brother’s interrogation methods. He had only heard stories until now. Dark tales wove around the Shadow’s powers and influence. It was partially the reason why his marriage to the king was unopposed by the people. With Mathias to keep Lukas in check and the other way around, they could usher forth a rule with benevolence and cunning. But those who had not gone to war to witness the Shadow’s powers did not know what practices he had taken to win Crodinia its victories.

“Emil,” Lukas looked to him, “if this is too much for you, you can wait at the bleachers with Tino and your pet. I’ll be a moment here.”

“N-No…” He could hardly believe the words he was saying, as much as it frightened him, “I need to stay. I deserve to know where they were going to take Leon and what they were going to do with him.”

The prince saw a flash of a smile from his brother. It fell as soon as he returned to the downed man. “I’ll ask again: who is in charge of your operations?”

“I wasn’t supposed t’ say,” the man said, looking towards Leon. “They paid for two things: to find Altorienese like him and ta keep my silence. Even if I was to— _Auughh!_ ” His other leg froze over in dark ice. The Shadow shattered it with his sword with a swing like a hammer. Dark rubies oozed where blood, bones, and flesh should have been.

“Not what I wanted to here,” the Shadow said. “That answer also makes me have more questions. That means more time I have to spend here.”

 _More time away from Mathias, you mean_ , Emil thought in realization.

The man howled, but because of the festival, no one noticed the activities that were transpiring behind the weapons tent. “They made me swear! I’m too low on the order to know! The one…You ran ‘im through…He was in charge here.”

The Shadow heavily spat. “Telling the truth, but it’s not enough…And how many more of you were there? Will we be expecting someone to come this way with another Altorienese in tow?”

“No…” the poacher wheezed. There was a trail of foam spilling down his mouth from the shock. Blood oozed from the rubies in the broken wound, but this time, the Shadow did not order Emil to heal it. “Us three, that was it—here. Fucks sake…! There were others, but I don’t know where they are.”

The Shadow froze half of the poacher’s right hand and sliced it off. More screaming came. Emil felt faint. “You’re lying.” He waited for the screaming to calm down so his soft voice could be heard. “You know somewhere else where these kidnappings are taking place. The other half of your hand is next.”

“I—I—Nine Divine forgive me…” He gritted his teeth so hard, Emil feared they would pop out from his jaws. Tears streamed down his cheeks where they now flushed white in the shade. “Tyse. I heard them talking about Tyse doing this, too.”

“Truth. We’re getting somewhere.” The Shadow leaned forward and stared at the crushed bones protruding from the remains of the poacher’s hand. “You said you were looking for ‘Altorienese like him.’ That boy you see clutching onto my brother? He was a gift from me to him. He was picked out of a group of Altoriense boys much like himself. What makes this one so special?”

This time, the poacher was more compliant. Missing both legs and half a hand might have had something to do with that. “Golden eyes.” Emil felt his pet flinch. “Wasn’t in my place ta ask what that meant…but we were told to look for anyone—old, young, men, women—who had eyes o’ gold.”

The Shadow stared hard at the poacher, searching for more clues in his heart. Emil had tried practicing the spell of hearts, himself, but his own heart was too frail to overcome the barriers of others. Only those with a clear mind and strong fortitude could master it so skillfully. The Shadow was one of them.

Having searched the rest of the man’s heart, he found nothing left of use. He killed him with a thrust in his throat and cleaned his blade off with the cloth from one of the cages. Sighing, he sheathed his sword and brushed back his bangs. “Had you not been here, I might have done more, Emil, but this is supposed to be a happy week. I’m sorry you had to see that.” He knelt to him. “Still, I’m proud you were able to watch that. It couldn’t have been easy for you.”

The prince’s voice had a trill when he spoke. “…I-I’m an adult. I should be able to.”

Lukas softly smiled with sullen eyes. “Yes, you are in age, though I wish you could have stayed younger for longer. It might make up for the time that I’ve lost.” He rose and patted his brother’s hair, not a drop of blood to be found on his body. “I’m going to speak of some things with Tino and take care of the other Altorienese. Go meet Mathias. He’s at the bleachers. And do _not_ lose your pet again.”

“Yes, brother,” Emil bowed his head and whisked his pet away. It would be the last time his brother would do anything like that for him, he knew. He would have to keep Leon safe from now on.

He spoke not a word to his pet when they arrived at the fel’n pits. Mathias was where Lukas said he would be, sitting atop the highest chairs with the flashiest red cape. He threw a smile his brother-in-law’s way when he spotted his white hair, but wavered at his distraught expression.

“Hey, Ice, everything alright with you?”

 _He doesn’t know of the kidnappings, does he?_ “Yes, I’m fine. And you?” _Lukas will tell him about it later._

“Terrific.” Mathias stretched a smile. “So yer pet’s here, huh?”

“Er, yes. I thought it would be good to show him what the fights are like…” _I want to go home._

With but half an hour before the first of the fights began, Emil took the time to finally examine his pet. He searched him for bruises or cuts, quietly healing him when he was sure no one was looking. When Leon’s pain subsided, he asked what had happened.

“They took me,” his pet spoke. If he had been frightened, he was doing an impeccable job of concealing his emotions. “I was in darkness. They hit me, and then I was in a cage. It wasn’t long. You found me. For that…thank you with all of my heart.”

Emil blinked. “You’re fine being back here with me?”

“You take care of me, Master. For me, where you are is home.”

“I was careless, Leon. It won't happen again.” His fingers glided to his pet’s bare wrist. “I’ll get a new ribbon for you.”

Lukas and Tino arrived shortly after. Mathias greeted the two of them with a joyous voice. “Tino! Ya missed out these past few days! Thought you weren’t coming, but here ya are, after all!”

“Nice to see you, Mathias,” Tino beamed. He was better at hiding his emotions than Emil was.

“And Berwald?” the king searched the horizon. “He come with ya?”

“No, he had affairs he needed to take care of.”

“He needs to come next year. You, too. Then we’ll be able to talk ships and bridges!”

Lukas leaned forth and murmured into his husband’s ear, “Ships and bridges will have to wait, Mathias. We need to go somewhere private. I need to speak with you on some things.”

Mathias was still looking at Tino. “Now? Can it wait?”

Lukas pressed his lips onto Mathias’ and kissed him deeply. “ _Now._ ” Emil blushed, Leon noticing the gesture. It was rare for the rulers to show affection in public, even if it was more to get Mathias’ attention than anything.

The king needed no more telling. He followed Lukas away, leaving two vacant seats. Tino maintained a smile until they left. “Emil, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he repeated the same words he had said to the king, though his head was swimming with nausea.

The margrave furrowed his brow in sympathy. “It was brave of you to see that, but I’m not sure how many times you’ve witnessed that side of your brother.”

“…I’m aware of it. I’ve heard stories from the knights. It’s just…I didn’t expect to see it so suddenly.” His lips quivered. He could feel acid in his throat. “Was it right, what he did? I’m happy to have Leon back, but was it necessary to kill them?”

“That’s not for me to decide, Emil.” The margrave was firm on this stance. “If it was someone stealing property from my people, I would have dealt with them differently. I will say, I think what Lukas did was personal. You said Leon was a gift from your brother, after all.” Emil hesitantly nodded. “Then, by extension, those poachers acted against Lukas, I’d think. Again, I won’t say if I think he was right, but I can understand why he might’ve done that.”

Emil fell uncomfortably silent. He stroked his pet’s hair, hoping to find some comfort, but at last, the smells, the noise, and the memories did their work on his fragile frame. He excused himself from Tino’s audience and rose to leave, Leon following. He made it as far as the underside of the bleachers before his breakfast left his stomach in a heave. Sour bile stung at his throat and tongue until he retched empty air.

“Master—” Leon was at his side in an instant, the precious boy. He rubbed his shoulders and leaned close to him despite the stench he coughed up.

When his voice came to him, Emil spoke with dizzying slurs. “Whyarnt yewmore afraid…?”

“Pardon?” Leon blinked.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” The prince suddenly found himself sobbing and cursed his weakness. “O-Of what I’ve brought you into.”

“You are the best thing that has happened to me.” Leon was certain of the words, himself. “My life is yours. I’m so happy you found me. If it wasn’t for you, I would have died cold and forgotten.” He wore a soft smile that put the prince at ease. Emil was eternally grateful that he had chosen Leon among the others. “You won’t forget me, will you, Master?”

“Never.” In spite of himself and everything, Emil found the strength to smile.

“If you want to leave, then we can leave.”

It was as though Leon had read the prince’s mind. He did not want to linger here any longer. He hated the atmosphere. He wanted to eat teacakes and enjoy the summer flowers in the gardens. He wanted to read books of adventures and spells he could only dream of conjuring. He wanted no more of this blood, killing, and maiming. He wished he had never seen what his brother had done. He knew this had always been a part of him, but to finally see it with his own eyes had changed something inside of him. How must his brother feel, knowing that innocence was lost, he wondered?

“No,” he decided. “I can’t.” He summoned his courage and returned to the bleachers, Tino fussing over how much paler he looked. “I’m fine,” Emil insisted, despite it not being so.

In spite of his words, the margrave fetched some ale from a vendor and gave it to him. A chilling spell had kept it cool, and Emil drank it heartily. The cold hard drink washed the acidic sting down his throat and kept his stomach calm. He thanked Tino and gathered himself, feeling a little better now. As he rested his hand on his lap, he felt something lie atop it. Leon squeezed it with a tender grip, and while he did not look his way, he thanked him in silence.

* * *

“I killed them, Mathias. The feeling hasn’t disappeared.”

“That’s not what it is. It’s instinct. I still remember how to kill, too.”

Lukas wore a tired smile. “Ever the optimist with you. Maybe you’re right.”

“I am?”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Lukas huffed. “I was quick. I tried not to make them suffer. It could’ve been because Emil was there, but…” He sighed. “I want to believe you’re right.”

“Hey, that’d make me feel better, too,” Mathias joked. He loved when he could make Lukas genuinely laugh. As far as he knew, he was the only one who could do so. The love of his life let down his mental walls and embraced his chest. Their heartbeats were out of rhythm, Lukas’ slightly faster than his.

“Do you recall, Mathias, when we stormed the palace?”

“In Tong Bei?”

“Among them, how many of them do you remember having golden eyes?”

Mathias furrowed his dark brow, struggling to remember. The war had not been long ago, but long enough that he could not recall any singular face—save for the emperor and the imperial general.

“You don’t know.”

“Their faces are a blur. I didn’t have time to think about each one; I just needed to kill them.”

Lukas hummed in thought. “That must be your secret to sleeping easy at night. You don’t see them as individual lives.”

Mathias rubbed his husband’s shoulders. “No, it’s because yer always there next to me—Why? Y’saying you don’t like sleeping with me?”

“You snore,” Lukas teased him, surprised at his own playfulness in contrast to his fresh bloodlust. “I…No, you being there makes it easier. I’m sure it’s me.”

Mathias cradled his husband’s neck and leaned in for a kiss. Secluded in an empty tent away from prying eyes, he felt free to express his affections. Their lips were warm and locked for a good spell, until Lukas moved away for air. He held him close with his broad arms, fiercely yet gently as though he were a bird ready to burst in flight. “You punish yourself too much, ya know that?”

Lukas grunted but did not move. He longed to stay in his husband’s arms. “We need to get back on topic. The eyes. You really don’t remember anyone with golden eyes?”

Mathias pursed his lips and thought hard, which he seldom did. He remembered some faces, but the rest were a blur. Those he did remember—what were the details? Dark hair, narrow eyes, flat profiles. Their eyes— _Think!_ The imperial general. His expression was blank, void of more traces than his beloved. Yes, he remembered. He thought none could hold an expression like the one he loved, however he had lived with Lukas for so long that he could read him like a picture book. The general he could not. Even to his last breath, his eyes had been blank—but they had been black voids, not gold.

And the emperor. He remembered the weight of his head. His long black hair like ebony silk. The emperor had not appeared to be a fighting man. He had been slender and pale. When his axe cleaved through his neck, he had to have seen his eyes. Were they black? Brown? Gold? He burrowed through his memories. The heat, his sweat, the look of relief on his comrades’ faces when they knew it was over. He could see all of it except—

“Of the faces I do remember, I can’t seem to remember _his_ eyes, Lukas,” Mathias hopelessly confessed. “When I took off the emperor’s head, I remember the paintings, the steps, the throne, his clothes, but not his eyes.”

“Pity,” his husband sighed. “And here I thought we were onto something. I’d ask one of the others, but that’d raise suspicion.” Of those who had been in the throne room, Mathias had been accounted for, along with three of his knights, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, Allistor Kirkland, and…

 _There was another_. Who else? Someone so forgettable that even the Shadow, himself, could not seem to place a name? The Golden King and Ranger King were both recognizable as they were. The three knights had long since gone on separate paths: one retiring to the countryside, one joining ranks in the Cross Guard, and one devoting his time to being a tutor to aspiring squires. He could pick out those details well enough. So why did there seem to be a gap in his memory when it came to the last person in the throne room?

Something did not feel right about this. He hoped this was all some silly coincidence, that Leon’s near kidnapping was the result of a black market of golden-eyed Altorienese. Yet he was afraid if he kept digging, he would find something he had left festering in the darkness, something he had failed to take care of. He hoped he had not made a mistake giving they boy as a gift to Emil. It would be easy to eliminate the boy by seemingly accidental means, but he had seen how much his brother doted on him and smiled with him. It reminded him of his time with his brother as children. He could not bear to break his brother’s heart after finally being granted such a companion. 

Something warm and large smoothed the bangs that fell over his left eye. Mathias’ fingers glided across his forehead. “Lukas, are ya feelin’ alright?”

Lukas’ expression was as unreadable as ever, but his husband had a knack for picking out the times he was in deep thought. “If I said I was fine, you’d know I wasn’t. No, I’m not feeling alright, Mathias. Even if they had done ill, I killed three people. Not to mention the kidnappings were happening right under our noses. I'd investigate it myself, but…” He sighed again. “…You know how these affairs play out. It can’t have only been in Crodinia. It must be happening all over. But if none of the other kings have said anything about it, could we be the first to discover this activity?”

Mathias thinned his lips. “You said the orders came from Tyse. Tim’s the type of person who would’ve found out about the Altorienese before anyone. I’ll write to him.”

“And I’ll remind you.” Lukas brushed up his husband’s cheek and dug his fingers into his wild hair. Despite its outwardly appearance, it was pleasantly soft to the touch. “We shouldn’t stay here any longer. We need to be up there.”

“Can you handle it? It’s fel’n. It ain’t gonna be pretty.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

Mathias frowned. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve better.”

“Who said I don’t like watching the fel’n fights?”

“I—” Mathias gaped. “I never knew you liked them.”

“I didn’t say I liked them, more like I don’t dislike them.” Apparently two contradictions was too much for the Sun King to handle because he stood there, mind vacant as a log. Lukas sometimes wondered how he fell for such a man. “There now,” he sighed, stroking his husband’s hair, “I’ll be fine. You’ll know if I’m not.”

That was simple enough to understand. Mathias accepted that and led them back outside. He thought of what sorts of fel’n they were going to see today. Maybe oxen or bear. He had seen a wolf display, which he had found exciting. Eagles were also fascinating, but they lacked the sheer power mammalian fel’n had. Everything would be fine, he thought. They would take care of the lost Altorienese and find the source of the kidnappings in due time. He trusted Lukas and valued his levelheadedness and resolve more than anyone else’s. He only wished he could lend his beloved some of the bottomless faith he had for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read some of my other (unfinished) works, you may have noticed that the world of Eliatha--a continent in this universe--has a polytheistic belief system in place. I originally wanted to leave the gods' presence vague in this story, as well, but I chose to give them a bit of identity in this rewrite just to flesh out the world a little more, heh. You may have caught little snippets of them being mentioned since the first chapter. 
> 
> Also, I added a new tag as a cover-all warning that this story is, once again, not for the faint of heart. (I've only recently learned of the term "dead dove.") Please be advised as the story progresses!


	9. His Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil and Leon clean up after the distressing incident. Mathias takes his company to an irregular location.

There would be no watching the fel’n fights for the prince and his pet, for when his brother returned, he was summoned to follow him. Emil’s chest gave out a sigh of relief when he was given his leave. Lukas was waiting at the edge of the arena where ropes of red flagging marked the ground perimeters. He wore no outwardly emotion, but Emil had grown used to studying his brother’s eyes and saw that they had sunken in. _You push yourself too much, brother_. He often thought Lukas desperately needed some time away from his duties. Even after marrying Mathias, there had been no rest. Lukas and his husband had immediately set to work rebuilding Crodinia’s morale and network. If the Shadow had ever complained or tired, Emil had never seen him do it in public.

“How is your pet doing?” Lukas’ voice was soft, even when speaking in the parting crowd.

“Better, I think.” Emil was glad that he did not have to be at the fel’n pits. He did not have to hear the animalistic cries or smell the sweat and blood of the fighters.

“Excellent. We need him to ask where the pets’ owners are.”

“Why not make it public and say there are some pets missing?”

“That’d announce there was a problem to begin with. We can’t have that during the Red Summer. Someone’s already died during the jousting tourney. Three others are dead, and who knows if they’ll be missed. Another issue won’t bode well with the people.”

Emil wished he had possessed the foresight to see that before he had asked.

Lukas led them to a covered tent where the other six pets were. Two guards were also there, and judging from their sanguine capes and double golden crosses on their armored emblems, Emil knew them to be part of the elite Cross Guard.

The pets were still bound in ropes and chains, confusion and vacancy reflected in their golden eyes. Seeing others with Leon’s eyes made something stir in Emil’s stomach, but he dismissed it as apprehension. Some were dressed more presentably than others, but they all looked like they had come from well-off owners.

There were two females and four males. Leon interrogated one of the males first. Emil had only heard his pet briefly speak Altorienese once before, when he had used cold fire on himself. The exotic words fell deaf on his Crodinian-trained ears. He had never heard his pet speak so fluently before; Altorienese truly was his mother language. When he spoke, it was without pause or hesitation, not like when he formulated sentences in Crodinian.

 _I want him to speak to me like that, too_ , he wished.

The male pet mumbled some Altorienese back, and after an exchange of words, Leon reported back to his master and the Shadow. “He belongs to someone with a gray banner with a golden fish.”

“House Fares,” Lukas immediately deduced. “They’re visiting from the west, probably staying in the castle. Alright, next one.”

One by one, Leon spoke with them in his native tongue until all had their owners’ houses revealed. Sandsthon, Dregg, Fortmire, Veinsburg, Thilas—all families with some rank of nobility to their name. _None of them wanted to leave_ , Emil noted. All had willingly gave Leon names or banners. Was Altorien so horrid in condition that they would prefer the life of a pet rather than return to their old home?

“You’ve taught your pet well,” Lukas praised Emil. “Perhaps it was good that you made him a talker.”

Emil blushed. “Thank you. I’m glad we could find out who their owners are.”

“Funny they should all be so compliant,” Lukas mused. He had grown so used to torture during the war with the Altorienese; it came as a pleasant surprise when his brother’s pet had coaxed them into giving out their owners’ banners. “In any case, the houses will be happy to hear their property was returned to them. I’ll let them know it was you who figured it out, Emil, what say you to that?”

Emil’s heart fluttered. A noble deed to his name. He had not had such an opportunity before. “I-I’d be honored, Lukas. Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you for even bothering to teach your pet Crodinian. Most don’t go through the effort.”

Emil did his best to stay humble and merely bowed.

Lukas turned to leave. “Since you’re taking credit for finding these pets, I’m going to leave you in charge of contacting their owners and taking care of them until they are claimed. It shouldn’t take more than a full day. Ander and Erik will be under your charge.”

“I—” Emil nearly asked his brother if he thought it wise to have two Cross Guards with him, but he held himself back in fear that they would see his hesitance. “Understood. Please enjoy yourself, Lukas.”

The Shadow vanished under the flap of the tent, the sunlight leaving a flash that made the prince squint. He looked to the Cross Guards almost as if hoping they had been left instructions, but he knew they had not been handpicked by Mathias for trivial matters.

_Best to handle this myself before asking anything of them._

There were ten members of the Cross Guard in total—two from each province in the Kingdom of Crodinia. Ander was from local Merctun, the central province where the capital of Markal and the main castle stood. Erik was from Staven of the west. Each of the ten guards had a mastery in a specific weapon, though they were all masters of arms in their own rights. Emil knew Erik was skilled in the lance, as he had been chosen after a grand jousting tournament. He did not remember Ander’s art, but if it was anything related to where he hailed from, he would have guessed swordsmanship or battle axe.

Emil’s first task was to notify the houses that their pets had been found. He obtained parchment and ink and wrote formal letters to the owners, telling them that their pets had been found and were safe. He then summoned a courier to reach the head steward and hand him the letters; no doubt he would know where all the noble families were staying during the Red Summer. From here, it was a matter of waiting. Emil permitted Leon talk with the others, as he was certain it had been some time before any of them had spoken to another of their own kind.

 _I wish I knew what they were saying_ , he thought longingly as he listened to his pet conversing in Altorienese with the others. They had been soft and cautious speaking their old tongue at first, but as Leon continued speaking, they opened up and spoke more to him, some even smiling.

“Your Highness, you think that wise to let them talk?” Ander asked. “They could be conspiring.”

The thought had never occurred to Emil. “I trust my pet.”

“You’ve had him not even two moons,” the knight reminded him. Like the other Cross Guards, he had been present at the prince’s coming of age day.

 _And we’ve exchanged at most three conversations in your service, so are you calling me naïve to place my life in your hands?_ “Do not question where my trust lies,” he bluntly said in a voice befitting of his brother’s venomous tone. He was pleased to see Ander remain silent thereafter.

Two hours had passed before the first house responded. A courier with a broach of House Dregg came to pick up his lord’s property. One of the Altorienese stepped forward, and Emil uttered an unbinding spell that undid his shackles. The courier thanked the prince and left with the Altorienese. Five remained.

By late afternoon, creeping into suppertime, the last of the pets was picked up by House Fortmire. Emil dismissed the Cross Guards, while Leon returned to his master’s side and waited for instructions.

“Thank you for all your help, Leon,” Emil said with a grateful smile.

“I am yours to use, Master,” Leon responded, also smiling.

“What did you talk about with them?”

“Where they came from, if they were happy, if they were hurt or scared.”

“I see.” He wondered if he should have asked the next part of him. “You weren’t speaking of anything else, were you? Escaping or—”

Leon laughed, startling him. “The life we’re living here is paradise compared to Altorien, Master.”

Some relief breathed into the prince’s body. “What did they tell you of their lives—in Altorien and in Crodinia?”

His pet had difficulty finding the right words to say. It seemed his vocabulary was not detailed enough for such descriptions. “They…We…Even before the war, our lives were poor. We were starving and wet and afraid. There were so many people in Altorien. To live, you had to be strong or smart or rich or pretty. To you, at least we are pretty.” Emil could not argue that. “But we were not strong or smart enough. We lived because of that. The strong went to war. The smart and rich were captured and killed. Those left—”

“Became pets,” Emil finished, solemn. “Here, though, are they happy?”

“Like you, their masters give them food and a bed. It’s cold here, but the chill of fear is scarier to us. What took place in the old empire was worse than anything we could face here, no matter the punishment. So yes, we are happy.”

Emil reached out and petted Leon’s head for his words and his work. “And I am happy to hear that.”

The fel’n fights had finished for the day. Emil thanked the gods in silent prayer for not having him witness them. The victor’s owner had been rewarded with a cash prize and bounty of food. “If I’m being honest, I’m glad we didn’t watch,” Emil said to his pet as they left the tent. “Does it bother you, Leon, knowing that we make them fight here?”

“I’ve seen it before,” Leon replied. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Have you ever seen one of the fallen?” the prince suddenly asked.

“Fallen?” Leon echoed. He mentally searched through his Crodinian lessons for a clue in the words. The word “fallen” sounded like “fell” or “fall.” Perhaps it meant one who had physically fallen down. “Someone who tripped, Master?”

The prince quizzically raised an eyebrow. “Your people must have had a different word for it. But you’re partially right. ‘Fallen’ can mean someone who has dropped to the ground. We have a different meaning for the same word here in the west: the ‘fallen’ are fel’n who have lost themselves.”

“Fel’n who lost themselves…” Leon softly repeated. He knew that to be lost was to not know where one was. Perhaps this was another figurative meaning, he deduced, but it was not hard to understand what his master truly meant. “Yes, I know what those are. I have seen them. Many times.”

“Have you?” Somehow his reply put the prince slightly at ease. “Then maybe you know their pain.”

Leon shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not fel’n. If you mean their suffering, I remember what they looked like as they changed—how they ‘lost themselves’ as you said.”

The prince stopped walking. He stared into Leon’s eyes, as if searching for an answer. _You’re not going to find anything, prince_. _My heart closed a long time ago._ In his old village, one of the elders had said that the eyes were the window to the soul. How then, must his eyes have looked to another, Leon wondered? He believed he had been initially chosen by his master because of his eyes, but if that were true, then maybe he was better at hiding his soul than he thought.

“I guess it’s nothing,” the prince vaguely murmured, tearing his eyes from Leon’s. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say it’s nothing,” he corrected himself in apology. “That ‘nothing’ is why you were kidnapped, but I may have been reading too much into it.”

 _It doesn’t matter as long as you’ll have me_ , Leon thought. He had been abandoned too many times to remember. When the prince had come for him, he thought he would have burst into tears. He was not worth anything to pitiable and kind Emil except as a companion, and he saw him the same. Pet though he was, he was not a means to an ulterior end. His heart felt safe with him.

* * *

It was easier for Emil to use a tracking spell for finding his brother, living being though he was. Emil found Lukas chatting with Mathias and Tino behind an open stall away from public eyes. Mathias spoke the most, but he also looked the most anxious. He fared best when he was in action, not standing barehandedly around, regardless of his audience.

“Ice!” Mathias spotted him first, his watchful eyes typically darting around like a hyper hunting mutt.

“Finished with your errand?” Lukas asked, greeting his brother by fixing his hair.

“Augh, stop it,” Emil pouted, letting his guard down in front of these three. They had known him long enough that he could take his refined mask off. “The pets have all been returned.”

“Nice job, I—er, I mean, Emil,” Mathias grinned. He complimented Emil more frequently than Lukas, but it was nice to hear his praise all the same.

“You didn’t have any troubles, did you?” Tino asked, and to that, Emil shook his head.

“Alright,” Mathias began, “since that’s taken care of, why don’t we have dinner here? I wanna try the Pie Corner.”

Lukas rolled his eyes but went along with his husband’s wishes. “If that’s what you want, Your Majesty.” It had been a long day for them all. Tino, meanwhile, agreed with anything related to food and countered the Shadow’s reluctance with eager hunger.

The Pie Corner was a comely restaurant built underneath an inn that stretched the entire second and third floor of the brown building. When word had spread that the king, himself, was dining here, the owners prepared their largest table and brought out complimentary ale and bread for his audience.

“Free drinks are the best kind!” Mathias grinned, raising his glass and downing it in three hefty gulps. He immediately asked for another helping.

“The gods know that isn’t true,” Lukas scoffed under his breath. He sipped from his own glass. By the time he would finish one, Mathias would down four.

“His Majesty speaks differently than you and your brother,” Leon pointed out. He sat at the far end of the table, furthest from the king. He had not been offered ale, but he was welcome to eat the harder rolls of bread. He did not complain.

Emil made a face teetering between embarrassed and sympathetic. “His mother, the last queen, was said to have been a rowdy and wild woman. She came from the countryside from a lesser noble house whose only assets were farmland in the southern province.

“I was told Vitus, Mathias’ father, met her during an archery competition on horseback. Two things Vitus had never been good at were archery and riding, but she showed him how beautiful both could be.” His cheeks flushed bright pink, and he wondered if it was because of the atmosphere or the alcohol. “Er, but because she came from the countryside, her manner of speaking was rough. Mathias…never knew her. She died in childbirth. Before Lukas and I moved to the capital, he summered with his mother’s parents. I think he picked up his mother’s way of speaking in part to remind himself of where his mother came from.” Emil twisted his lips and added in a soft voice, “He’s always been bad at archery and riding, though, just like his father.”

“When I master your language, I’ll speak in a voice that reflects myself,” Leon resolved, though he had a feeling his manner of speaking was already developing.

This made the prince smile. “I’d like to hear it. Keep practicing. Your mastery is coming along really well.” Leon’s face bore no emotion, but his heart beamed. He was unused to such praise.

Through supper, some commonfolk ventured into the Pie Corner and spoke with the king. There were a few squires and lower guards among the visitors, but never any nobles.

 _The highborn wouldn’t come to a place like this_ , Emil only just now noticed. While Mathias’ audience made the atmosphere more cheery and inviting, the walls were moldy and cracked, and the tables and cutlery were weathered smooth. Though not seedy, the establishment was also located in a hidden part of the capital city, far from the main streets and popular stalls. _He came here so he could talk with the commonfolk._

The Sun King paid no mind to the dilapidated state of the dining space. He joked and laughed with men and women, alike, broke bread with them, drank their worries away, and sang songs when their faces turned red. Tino also joined in to the dismay of Lukas, whose only sane and sober company was now Emil and Leon.

_“Give me a weapon to sheath the night_

_To e’ryone balks at the moon._

_The serpents, adorn-ed with fangs of might_

_Are no match for the glow of the noon!”_

Mathias was a terrible singer, but by some miraculous feat, he never failed to remember the lyrics of any song taught to him, short or long. _Even when drunk_. Emil could have rolled his eyes. 

“What song was that, Master?” Leon asked.

“ _Serpents’ Midnight_ ,” Emil answered. “It’s based on a legend from old Crodinia when a winged serpentine colossi spread its wings over the sky and turned everything to eternal night. A warrior riding an enormous bird rode up to the colossi and used a gigantic sword to cut through its wings, bringing back the day. Flightless, the colossi came crashing down to earth, and where it fell now lies the Sar’ph Mountains.”

“Your brother’s birthplace,” Leon remembered.

“That’s right. Good memory.” The prince looked over to his brother whose eyes had glossed over a cloudy blue like an evening ocean shrouded in fog. His mind was not present, it was clear. He could scarcely blame him, having had to take three lives during the Red Summer of all times. No one but Mathias, Tino, Anders, Erik, Leon, and him had been aware of the deaths, as far as he knew. The rest of the festivities would go on as normal. _But having death during a time of merry is…_ His mind instantly went to Gerald Withers, the knight who had died during the jousting tourney. He could have been saved. Had Leon’s kidnapping been a divine punishment for not healing the knight?

 _Stop being ridiculous._ He tore himself free of the thought. Superstitions and nothing more. There was naught he could have done. It had been a series of ill coincidences. He should have been more careful. He would be from now on. He promised himself this.

“It seems you’ve been teaching your pet more than I thought.” Emil and his pet turned to see Lukas taking a seat beside them. He had left Mathias’ side, happy to be free of the adoring eyes and cheery spirits. The king normally took on the burden of socializing, and Lukas was happy to have a slight less amount of noise than the opposing table’s end. “I hope you’re still finding the time to do your own studying.”

“I’ve not neglected my duties,” said the prince.

His brother smiled to hide his tired eyes. “Wonderful. As is expected of a little lord.”

Emil nearly protested his being called “little,” but he thought it was better to let his brother tease him this time. He would serve as victim to his humor if it meant letting him vent some of his stress away. _Lukas, I worry about you._

The long table that had once housed only five guests had grown to a staggering number of thirty with at least forty more seated (or standing) at neighboring ones. More, still, had to be outside. Word had spread through the alleys that the king was presently dining at the Pie Corner, and several locals had flocked to the hidden eatery to see him.

Mathias was in good spirits—perhaps in more ways than one. Tino had joined in the merrymaking, singing intoxicatedly along with the others with high-pitched squeaks and hiccups, growing more frequent with each additional sip he took from his glass.

_“…with sapphire scales_

_And moonlight kissed tail,_

_They dove down below_

_To the ocean’s deep low,_

_And were nary seen again!”_

A shimmer of light cast itself upon Lukas’ eyes. Perhaps it was because sleep had escaped him the night prior, perhaps some dust fell past his lashes. Whatever the reason, Emil thought he saw—

Then, in a sudden stance, Lukas stood and walked to his husband without a word. Ignoring the singers and diners, he knelt to the king’s ear and whispered something that made his reddish face relax and sober up almost in near instant. Mathias flashed a look of concern in his eyes, though he never stopped smiling and gave a nod his husband’s way. Standing, he went to the owners and paid them a handful of gold suns before finishing off his last drink. Quick as he had settled down in the restaurant, he was quick to depart, Lukas telling Tino and Emil it was time to go.

The event had happened so fast that even on the ride back, Tino was still singing in drunken stupor. He mumbled songs about snow, battles, and glory. He softly wept when he reminisced about the pup he had left behind at his fort, his face pink, moist, and round like a ladypurse plum. Though Mathias’ festive mood was gone, he still quietly chatted with Lukas about tomorrow’s schedule. Otherwise, the journey home ended without mishaps, and the passengers dispersed to their chambers to retire.

Emil found it comforting to be gone from the city and free from the congested population. The amount of faces and peering eyes had made him nervous. He knew they had taken care of the poachers earlier that day, however, he could not shake the feeling that someone might have tried attacking Leon. _All it would’ve taken was a second…I need to be careful._

He and Leon drew a bath before going to his bedroom. At the far end of the hall was the king’s personal chambers. The door was closed, a cool blue light glowing from beneath the cracks. Lukas had to be in there. Mathias probably was, too.

“We should go to bed,” Emil whispered to his pet. He wanted to talk to Leon more about what had happened today, but he thought it best to wait until everything had settled down. There would be plenty of time to ponder later. But first, he thought, sleep. 


	10. His Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bothered by uncovered mysteries, Lukas makes an announcement to Mathias.

Cold fingers slid down warm skin. In complete darkness Lukas recognized the shape of his husband’s body. He felt for familiar scars, the grooves of his muscles, the toned surfaces where sturdy bones laid beneath skin. His legs supported atop Mathias’ own, shuddering from the protruding length thrusted deep inside him. He stifled a moan and held back his voice and body. The others needed their sleep, and—

“Mm—!” Hot fluid exploded within. A sharp gasp escaped his lips and cooled his throat before he collapsed into Mathias’ embrace. His breath was short. He thought they had agreed to take it slower than usual, yet his husband’s eagerness had gotten the better of them. He bit down on Mathias’ shoulder in retaliation, having not finished, himself. He did not let go until his husband emptied himself inside him and slid out with a gushing squelch, spilling seed all over their covers.

“You’re awful quiet t’night, Lukas,” Mathias panted, the smell of sweat and semen permeating the air. He waited for Lukas to break his hold on him, that he might help him finish, too.

Lukas tasted the blood from his teeth and guided his husband between his legs. He gasped every time he was sucked, though he did not use his voice, not even when he released. Heart racing and legs sore, he tossed himself on a pillow and shut his eyes. Large hands snaked up his torso to his chest and held him.

“Hey,” Mathias kissed his forehead, “are ya mad at me?”

He grunted. “Said you would go slow.” He heard a laugh.

“I said I would go slow, not _finish_ slow.”

He had no time for this. “I’m going to sleep.” Mathias released him. Lukas heard a shuffle and felt a sudden lurch on the mattress as his husband rested beside him. Then, a soft voice, not quite a whisper, tickled his ear.

“Didnja say ya needed to talk to me about something?”

“In the morning.” Lukas could still smell the alcohol on his husband’s breath.

Mathias’ clicked his tongue. “Yer tellin’ me I could’ve stayed in the city some more, then?”

In the darkness, Lukas wrinkled his brow. “What good are a few more free drinks? You’re a king, for gods’ sakes.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Mathias muffled a laugh. “It’s not the drinks; I was teasin’.” Lukas knew that. It was to talk with the commonfolk, to listen to their stories, to see the world from their eyes, to sing with them as their guest. He should have let them stay longer, but he was stubborn. And jealous.

“Fine, I'll tell you: I need to go home for a few days.”

A shuffle and another bounce. Mathias must have gotten up. “What?”

Gods, he was loud even when he was trying to be quiet. “We don’t have the records here, and I want to—”

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait—” Mathias took a breath. “—when you say ‘home,’ do you mean—?”

“Sar’ph, not Morstur.” Though in his mind, he would not call either his home anymore.

Mathias was silent for a quick second before his mouth opened again. “You mind tellin’ me why, Lukas?”

“I need to put some qualms to rest.” _Rest. Like I should be doing now._ “I can see how my uncle and the castle’s doing, too, and then I’ll come straight back.”

“When?”

“A couple days after the festival, probably.”

“…I’m going with you.”

Lukas scoffed. “And leave who to run the kingdom? Emil?” It would be rather hectic, as short as he planned to be gone.

“Y'know, Emil’d do fine. He’s of age. An’ Tino’s here. He could take a break from the whole margrave position, help out, run things from the sidelines…What, yer going down t' Surlith just to do research?”

“More or less.” Imagining Mathias following him to Sar’ph injected conflicting thoughts in his mind. His dear childhood friend had never seen his home before. Lukas had relinquished House Bondevik to his uncle, after assuming position of the Shadow, as he had no time to divide his rulership between two provinces, focusing on the bulk of Crodinia’s affairs instead. It may not have been a nostalgic place to him, but Mathias deserved to see the castle where he had been born.

On the other hand, Mathias had never left the capital since taking the crown. He would be leaving for the first time for what could very well be a trivial reason. As king, he should have acted only on weighted responsibility—but that was never the case with him, was it?

“You’re not going, Mathias. That’s final.”

A rustle of fabric shook the bed. Lukas felt a presence over him. He could hear Mathias’ large heart beating in tandem with his spirit-laced breath. “Listen, I know ya don’t have pleasant memories of Sar’ph.”

“Mathias—”

“I’m not dumb. You don’t talk about it fer a reason. But I don’t want you going back there carrying bad thoughts an’ leaving with more.” Lukas felt his husband’s hands wrap around his neck, thumbs tracing his jawline. He tasted lips and wondered if some of his seed was still on Mathias’ mouth. Nothing. _Gluttonous oaf._ Mathias relieved him from his kiss and breathed onto his cool skin. “Y’know, we haven’t done anything special since getting married. We could use yer visit and do something fun together. Just the two of us. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

It would, Lukas silently agreed. He longed to go somewhere far away from ingratiating nobles and cozying commonfolk. No more hearings, gatherings, or schedules. Only them.

Just then, Mathias chuckled with a mischievous tone. “Looks like ya already gave me yer answer.” He wrapped his hand around Lukas’ member, stiffening despite having finished not minutes ago.

“That’s not—” Lukas rose to protest, but he fell back in submission as his husband’s member pressed to him, also firm.

“I’ll go slow this time,” he heard Mathias purr. His hand moved along their shafts, pumping them in unison. Lukas twitched. “So whadd’ya say? Can I come?”

“Why not? You did it once before.”

Mathias stopped stroking. “Was that a joke?”

 _Gods._ “Finish what you started. _That_ wasn’t a joke.” He wait for his husband to help him climax, but it seemed he had other plans. Mathias complied, but he moved slower this time. Much slower. It was enough to get Lukas hopeful but unsatisfied. He knew what he was doing, he testily realized. 

“Mathias Køhler—” He moaned. “—I-I’m not letting you go.”

“Funny,” he laughed, “looks to me that _I_ should be the sayin’ that.”

Lukas hissed. He was fitting to release, but he needed more stimulus. However, he knew Mathias was right about what he said. He was not going to let him go until he got what he wanted. “If you go— _Ngh!_ Promise me—You. _Will_. Behave.”

“Promise.”

His word was simple and true, enough, Lukas had come to learn all these years of being with him. There would be some wrangling and reminding needed, but if he promised anything, his word was as good as any.

“Alright, fine. You can come.” He could scarcely believe he had relented _._

Mathias came first, Lukas shortly following. This time Mathias lay beside him and stayed, his quick breathing falling in tempo to a rhythmic tranquil wisp.

 _How can you be so calm?_ Lukas often wondered. Even in the war, during the few times he had laid in Mathias’ tent, the then-crown prince's breathing had been a lullaby to ease the horrors of battle. It mattered not how many he had killed that day, how many brothers had been slain or trampled underfoot by savage beasts or ripped to shreds unrecognizable. Regardless, with the quiet air about them, and hearing the comforting lulls of slumber drift in their room, when Mathias slept, Lukas felt perfectly at peace. After all, it meant he was still here.


	11. His Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kingdom left in Emil's hands, he strives to prove himself while growing closer to Leon.

The last of the banners vanished off into the horizon, Leon watching them disappear down the roads that traveled beyond the city and into the deep country of Crodinia. He recounted the memories made during his first Red Summer. He remembered the food, the people, the colors, the sounds, the smells. He remembered the fear he had felt when he had been taken away, the relief when his master had found him, the warmth and protection of his arms when he held him. He remembered the vow he had taken to himself, that he would not forget the pale boy who had taken him under his wing and had given him a home.

News of the ruling couple’s trip had spread from Captain Keel of the Cross Guard and head steward down to the knight barracks, kitchens, stables, scholar wings, and beyond. The air buzzed with talk, the atmosphere far different than when the Red Summer had taken place. It was like bees, Leon thought, though he could scarcely blame the Crodinians for the excitement. The prince had said the king and his husband had not left the capital’s borders since the end of the Sunset War. Even when the other kings had traveled great leagues to gather with their neighboring rulers, Mathias and Lukas had remained stationed in Markal.

Most subjects thought it was wonderful that they were going on a trip, even if for a short while and even if Sar’ph was but a day of a ship’s journey away. It would be a good opportunity to observe the southern province of Surlith’s operations, and it would be a chance for the Shadow to see his old home. The denizen duke of Surlith was Lukas’ uncle, younger brother of his late father. Though related by blood, they had differing styles of governing, Lukas being more prudent and reserved in his ordinances when not carrying himself alongside Mathias.

Duties aside, most of all, everyone agreed the married pair deserved some respite. They worked long hours from dusk to dawn and beyond, scarcely making time for themselves other than through meals and holiday gatherings. The people had faith that Crodinia could run itself in the absence of her king for a short while, even if its upcoming regent was green and fresh in age and wisdom.

To that knowledge, Leon wrapped his hand around his master’s in silent comfort. It was clear to him that the prince had not expected to be in charge of the entire kingdom so suddenly. He had had almost no time to absorb the fact that his brother and king were leaving. There were schedules to memorize, hearings to attend, banners to study, policies to refresh. And for what reason?

“Curiosity,” was all the prince’s brother had answered and would not divulge more than that. He had added (rather offhandedly) that he and the Sun King wanted to have some time together, but his main underlying reason was so vague that it left the prince with nothing but confusion and frustration.

Leon pressed his fingers firmly into his master’s palm. They were about the same height when he corrected his slouched posture, but the prince’s skin was icy to the touch. He may have suggested warming up by the fire, however he tended to forget that this was still the northern kingdom's summertime. It must not have been too cold for someone who had grown up where snow fell in the warmer months.

“I'm afraid lessons are going to have to be put on hold for a while, Leon,” the prince's chest gave out a heavy sigh as he squeezed his pet’s hand. They were going to the royal study, but instead of browsing Crodinian lesson books or stories filled with fantastical adventures, their brief journey took them to record books of banners and family names. Piled beside the prince were regional policies, and next to that, a large stack of papers inventoried harvests from all the varying seasons throughout the centuries. It seemed such work for barely two weeks’ worth of ruling. Leon knew not what preparations the Sun King had to have taken to become the man he was now, but surely it had not taken this great an effort of bookish studies. He had yet to see the king pick up a book, himself.

 _It must be the Shadow_. The prince’s brother took on the quieter burdens of ruling, studying numbers, appeasing various traditions and cultures, advising his husband’s course of action. It had not been the work of one but two to run the Kingdom of Crodinia. This was a fool’s folly. The prince could not do this alone.

Tino Väinämöinen, the margrave of Höthson, was tasked with assisting the prince, too, but like his meeker friend, he lacked the experience needed to run a kingdom. His expertise majored in defending borders from invaders and making tactical decisions, not deciding how much money should go towards growing next year’s crops. Still, he was trying; Leon had to give him credit where it was due. He was helping the prince better understand the eastern province’s customs and houses, whom to appease and whom to stand a firm ground towards. It was still going to be difficult all around.

Gone were the red accents of the capital and the exotic food lining the streets in vendors. Leon now sat exasperatingly bored from lack of engagement. He could neither read the cursive scribbles of old Crodinian, nor did he care to. He was a pet. Pets did not do anything but please and entertain with companionship. He thought of doing just that, seeing how stressed and flustered his dear prince had become, yet he had to decide against it. His master needed space to concentrate, so he would give him that, instead.

Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days, and soon arrived the day of the Sun King and the Shadow’s departure. It was supposed to be a simple and quiet sendoff; none of the castle servants or scholars had known when was the exact moment the king would sail for Sar’ph. Among the few who did know were the prince, Tino, the Cross Guard, the head stewards, and the accompanying sailors.

“Safe travels, brother,” the prince said, hugging Lukas in desperation, as if silently pleading for him not to go. “You and Mathias take care and have a wonderful time. May The Nine Divine bring you gentle waters and a fair wind.”

“Yes, yes. Nine blessings. And please don’t set the castle on fire while we’re away.” Lukas patted his brother’s head, whose face had turned rigid and pale at his words. “It was a joke. I say them sometimes.”

“You’re really fine with me taking charge of the kingdom?” Emil looked to be on the verge of tears. The only thing holding back his emotions was his responsibility of age and duty, it seemed. 

“If there’s something terrible amiss, you can always send a letter our way. Mathias and I can give you advice from afar. We’re only gone for a little while. Tino will be here to help you, too.”

“Tino’s not you or Mathias,” the prince grumbled under his breath as his brother fixed his hair. Mathias approached them and rested his large hand atop his brother-in-law’s head. He ruffled his soft white hair and ruined Lukas’ efforts.

“Being king’s not so bad, Ice. It’s just smilin’, listenin’, an’ sayin’ what people wanna hear."

“Don’t listen to him,” Lukas cut in, his tone critical of Mathias’ lackadaisical demeanor. “Keep a level head and don’t always bend just to make people happy. I know it’s a great deal of work having to take on the task of two people, but I trust you’ll manage. You work hard, and I’m proud of you for that.”

The prince blushed and shied his eyes away. He was unused to such praise from his brother, as much as he was coddled. He wanted to make everyone look up to him. “I won’t disappoint you, Lukas. And Your Majesty.”

“Aw now, Ice…” Leon believed the Sun King to be the type who enjoyed hearing the sound of his own name over his honorific. Back at the Pie Corner, he did not seem comfortable being referred to as a king or "His Majesty” in the company of his people. All the same, the king gave his brother-in-law a sweeping hug and lifted him into the air as easily as a rootskin doll. He released him after a light protest and ruffled the prince’s hair again; it stood comically on all ends, as if he had fallen in a bramble bush. “Take care of yourself. Tino, you, too, alright?” The margrave smiled in promise. The Sun King then took his husband by the hand and bolted down the docks to their ship.

“Show some restraint. We aren’t children anymore,” the Shadow could be heard growling. They boarded the ship, _Mancel_ , an honest vessel not broad enough for war but comfortable enough for travel. The wood bore a fine ferroak frame with glassbark finishes worthy of a king sailing. Even from a distance, Leon could make out patterns of leaves, serpents, and runes coiled into shimmering shapes of Crodinian artistry. He and the others watched the canvas sails drop to catch a windmaster’s gust spell. From atop the deck, Mathias and Lukas waved to the shore until the ship was out of sight.

Leon waited with his master at the edge of the dock for a good time before they finally departed. Tino followed, already prepared with today’s hearings. They were to sit in on a council to discuss the events for next year’s Red Summer. Food stocks would need to be replenished, weapons made available, space reserved for vendors, and lists for new participants and returning to be made.

“Mathias usually handles those,” the prince wistfully reminisced, his mind and sight not present.

Tino wore a sympathetic look. “Mathias isn’t here, nor is your brother. Let’s do a good job so they can come back without having to play catch up. We’ll make them proud.”

“Yes, you’re right. I promised to do that.”

* * *

Leon sat in the hearings on the ground next to the throne’s chair, a new bright ribbon wrapped around his wrist. He did his best not to let his eyes wander, lest the local subjects find his attendance a distraction. He let his mind drift here and there during the talks, however, imagining what sort of food they would eat for dinner or if his master would give him something new and fashionable to wear—

 _"Look at you.”_ He sat straighter and sharpened his hearing. “ _Look. At. You.”_ Someone had told that to him in the past. He thought he had forgotten—No. Not forget. Never forget. Suppress, perhaps, set aside, maybe, but he could not bring himself to erase those memories even if he tried.

He turned his head to his master, Emil Steilsson. The boy was weak and modest. He had little to no claims to his name, and if his treatment in the castle had anything to do with his reputation, he was from a less-notable house. But here he was, regent ruler of the Kingdom of Crodinia.

Two weeks, thought Leon. For two weeks, he would be the shadow of the most powerful person in Crodinia. The tasks were dull and the hearings droning, true, but he was in a place most Altorienese could not fathom.

 _Yes. Look at me._ He felt his posture slipping. Why should he care? He was a pet. He was loved and protected. He was property, yes, but he was safe. He had his place in the world. He was done with prospects of glory and power and wealth. Everything ornate that had come to pass in his life had been pillaged, burned, and shattered. He did not care for glittering pedestals or empty promises. Leave those to the nobles and their insufferable paper-thin smiles. His life was simple and blissful. His world was Emil. Here he sat, and here he would stay.

He suddenly felt confident. His master was listening to a lesser noble from the northern province—Vesnïn, it was—requesting lowered taxes so they might put forth more investments into next year’s cabbage crop. Leon leaned his head towards his master’s hand that rested on the throne chair’s arm. He felt a cool touch on his cheek. He stayed there, lazily closing his eyes and absorbing the noble’s words about cabbages and the amount of financial resources poured into them: the soil, the workers, the seeds…

“I’ll not lower your taxes, Taerson, but I’ll offer something of my own.” To Leon’s surprise and pleasure, he felt his master lift his hand from underneath his head and stroke his hair. His eyelids grew heavy; it did not help that the hearings were so boring. He thought he would purr. “What you’re telling me is that your house’s land makes it difficult to grow food on. I will send you five weather mages to make the harvest easier on your crop. They can ensure that no blizzards will befall your land. Your family will be safe. In exchange, you will need to produce double the harvest you had last year. A quarter of that will be contributed to the crown’s pantry.”

The noble of House Taerson sounded baffled, but Leon did not see his expression. He was too busy indulging in his master’s touch. “B-B-But, Your…M—Highness, producing that much crop will still require substantial funds. Surely your coffers have enough support that you can grant my house some leeway.”

Emil did not stop petting Leon. “Five consecutive years, your decreased yields were—as you claimed—the result of poor conditions: icy soil, no sun, no running water. Improving the conditions will grant you a larger crop regardless. I’m not asking for initial startup yield, I’m asking for the amount of last year’s successful harvest and then some. Given that the north isn’t kind to crops already, this should be more than a sufficient offer.”

Another man—Leon had not bothered to learn his name—mumbled to Taerson. “M’lord, five weather mages is a generous offer. The cost to employ them is more than what any reasonable tax relief would be.”

“I-It isn’t the mages…!” the noble huffed, but it was clear that the offer was, indeed, very generous. “I…would be most honored for the employment of your mages, Your Highness. But the rest of my people. Those in my house may not find such use for the mages as my close family would…”

“Perhaps you’re right,” the prince said, his tone bolder. “Maybe five was too generous. Perhaps four should be enough, then.”

“M’lord!” the other man hissed.

“Five will do! Thank you, Your Highness!” the noble wheezed and took a bow. Leon narrowly opened his eyes to see the man, squat and sweaty from coming down south, waddling away in submission.

“Representatives of House Veinsburg, please step forward,” summoned Tino.

Veinsburg, Leon thought. He remembered that name. That had been one of the houses that had had their pet stolen from them. He saw a woman walk forward, wearing bright stain of red with an accompanying pet at her feet. It was one of the pets that Leon had spoken with, also sporting a red ribbon on his wrist. He seemed to be doing well in captivity, Leon thought and almost laughed at how nonchalantly he observed this.

“Your Highness, I am Lena Veinsburg. First of all, I would like to thank you for bringing my Snooks back to me.”

“Snooks?” the prince raised a brow.

“My pet. I paid a good price for him, and I was very upset to lose him.”

“I see.” The prince cleared his throat. “The pleasure was all mine. It is our duty to make sure the Red Summer goes with as little mishaps as possible.”

“Yes, but that is also why I am here today. My pet being taken away wasn’t the only one of my cases, was it?”

There was some murmuring in the crowd, but most of it was unengaged. Tino, however, looked to the prince. It was not supposed to have been known that the kidnappings had taken place at all, and for such a specific target.

“No, Lady Lena, your…Snooks was not the only pet to be taken that day. But all have been returned since then.”

“Within Merctun, but my cousin in Staven has told me that there are Altorienese vanishing in the area, too. The occurrence is stretching as far as Tabrini.”

“First I’ve heard of that,” Tino whispered to the prince amidst the murmurs.

“We’re not concerning ourselves with foreign affairs today,” the prince quickly hushed the throne room. “For you to escalate this all the way to the throne room, you should have consulted up with the Kvarans beforehand.”

“Altorienese pets are not allowed in Kvaran lands, so I thought it best to handle it at a place where they _are_ allowed,” said Lena, her lips stretched as thin as her voice. “My point is that the Altorienese here are pets, livestock, or fighting things to be bet upon. Whatever you may call them, they are _property_. And that property is being stolen by someone. Do you have any idea of who or what is making them disappear?”

A swarm of murmurs rose. “Altorienese spies?” “What if they turn on their masters?” “Are the ones disappearing fallen?” “Nonsense, the fallen are all gone.” “What if…?”

_“Order!_ ” came a shout. All heads turned to see Margrave Väinämöinen standing up, whose plump cheeks were now cherry red. He promptly sat back down when things quieted. 

“Thank you, Tino,” the prince gratefully whispered. He turned his attention to the lady of House Veinsburg. “I empathize with you, Lady Lena. I’ve my own pet that I care for, but no, we’ve not heard of any instances happening outside of Merctun. I’ll have you speak with Captain Keel of the Cross Guard, but any further discussion will turn into an investigation not meant for today’s hearings.”

It looked like the woman meant to speak further, but she stole a look into Leon’s eyes and turned to dissolve into the crowd. Her pet, Snooks, followed wordlessly behind her. _She looked at me. What did she know? Or_ think _she knows?_

The prince, meanwhile, began stroking him again. He combed his fingers through his hair and ran down his scalp in such a way that made Leon crane his head back. Indulged, Leon made a small mewing sound while the attendants in the throne room were talking in recess.

“Hmm? Sorry, Leon, did I hurt you?”

“No, the other—opposite,” he sheepishly corrected himself. “It feels nice.”

“Huh.” It occurred to both of them that while Leon was a pet, the prince had never touched him like this before. He had petted his head a few times, but nothing quite as intimate as stroking him.

“If it makes you feel better during the talks, you can keep touching me,” Leon offered.

“Was I petting you all this time?”

“Not the _entire_ time.”

“…I’ll think about it—if you say you truly like it, that is,” the prince reluctantly said.

“Your Highness,” Tino sharply whispered to catch their attention, and the two returned their focus to the hearings. House Venis was next, and he had a request to have the fishing strait by the Krys River accessible to his subjects.

* * *

Leon had lost track of the days. The sun showed itself every now and then beyond the grey clouds, so it must have been still summer in the kingdom. _How funny, a kingdom where the sun vanishes in the winter…_ The thought was almost as ridiculous as believing the world was round, but the prince had insisted that there were places in Vesnïn and Morstur that experienced little to no sunlight in winter. He had no reason to lie to his pet, so Leon had to accept that it must have been true. _What other weird magics do they have in this kingdom?_

In the meantime, his good master was still attending hearings and dining with nobles instead of holing up in his room, so it could not have been two weeks past, yet. Sometimes he brought Leon, but more often than not, he had left his pet in his chambers and brought food to him during mealtimes. Leon admitted he missed the solace they had spent together. He liked hearing his master’s voice and observing his brightened spirits when he spoke with him or shared a point of interest, sometimes a successful negotiation or a new opportunity to form alliances with the other kingdoms. They meant nothing to Leon, but if the events offered a boost in morale for his prince, then he believed he could find room in his heart to be happy for him, too.

It must have been a week past when the cagemaster, caretaker of the messenger birds, hand-delivered a letter to the prince. The Sun King and Shadow had not returned, but they had written a letter to put the prince’s worries at ease.

> _Dearest brother,_
> 
> _Rest your precious mind: Mathias has not devastated the trip. I assume if this letter has gotten to you safely, it means our castle is standing, too. I didn’t find what I was looking for here, but that’s left me more time to spend freely in Sar’ph. Uncle Timmen has done a fabulous job of keeping my old house stable in my leave. My room is still here, if you ever wanted to see it for yourself._
> 
> _Mathias is beside himself. He frequently takes me out in the morning to watch the sun rise and sail through the fjords. He’s a terrible fisherman; he’s yet to catch anything. If he comes back boasting that he caught buckets of fish, know that he is lying. I’ve been doing the catching. The fish are tastier here, still, I’ll admit._
> 
> _The Sar’ph Mountains still live up to their name. It is beautiful here. I hope you’ll find the time and strength to visit this place when you are ready. The descriptions are not something I can easily put into words. The mountains should be seen with your own eyes. And it has been nice, leaving the capital for a while, though Mathias has been keeping me busy all the same, not that you’d need reminding. Still, know that everything is well. I can only hope the same can be said for you. Please take care of yourself._
> 
> _With love from your brother,_
> 
> _Lukas Bondevik_

Leon had stolen a peek at the letter. The Shadow’s handwriting was elegant and curvy, so much so that he found difficulty reading what should have been comprehensive words to him. He looked to his master for some clues on his feelings. The prince was spinning the ring resting on his finger. Even when he bathed, he never took it off, Leon noticed. He knew about the custom of using rings for a symbol of status or wealth. There were also some couples who exchanged rings and vows as a symbol of everlasting love. Could that mean the prince was betrothed to another, Leon wondered? But he remembered that the Sun King and the Shadow with their thick Crodinian blood wore no rings, themselves. _Strange_ , he thought. He wondered some more.

“That’s good,” the prince breathed in relief when he finished the letter. He wore a timid smile. “It sounds like Lukas and Mathias are having fun.” He took his hand away from his finger and held his pet’s palm. His dull silver ring gave off an unimpressive shimmer even peasants would be ashamed to wear.

“Master,” Leon started, “what’s so special about your ring?”

The prince looked as though he had swallowed a frog. “This? I thought I told you about it before: it’s a family heirloom.”

 _Is that all it is?_ “Sorry, I forgot.”

His master flashed him a forgiving look. “It’s alright, no harm done. We’ve got some free time before the hearings,” the prince said, running a hand through Leon’s hair. Leon had grown to like that. “You want to eat some licorice and princess cake with me?”

“I’d like princess cake,” said Leon. The licorice he could do without.

The prince smiled and took him by his hand. He vented his concerns and thoughts of running the kingdom to his pet, but Leon was focused on the hand wrapped around his. He felt the cool hardness of the accessory. Running a thumb over it, it felt like nothing more than a polished piece of metal. Nothing powerful or magical surged from it. Perhaps he had been thinking too much of it.

“…I’m happy you’re here with me, Leon,” the prince’s voice glowed with a warm smile in contrast to his cool exterior.

The Altorienese bowed. “My presence is my pleasure, Mast—”

“Please,” the prince interrupted, “do you think…” He looked around the halls to see if anyone was walking in their direction. “…maybe when we’re alone, you could call me by my name?”

“I can’t do that, Master,” Leon refused, fearing where this might take him. _Him_ , he realized in his heart, not them. “I am your pet, and you are my owner and prince.”

“Then as your master, I order you to call me by name when we’re alone,” Emil said, firm.

Leon’s lips drew into a smirk. He was had. “As you command, Emil.” It felt off at first, but the smile he earned from saying his master’s name made his heart soar.

“Thank you, Leon.” Emil let out a wistful sigh. “I’ve not really had any close friends, myself, but I can see why Mathias, sociable as he is, doesn’t have them either. It’s difficult when you’re in a position like this.” Leon said nothing. “I go through each day with a new set of eyes and ears. Sometimes I have to wear the face of a king whose steadfast and unwilling to budget, someone wrought of fortitude. Other times, I have to be compassionate and openhearted; the people are my people, and it’s only fair that I judge them as those I have been dedicated to protect.

“And yet, there were occasions when Mathias and Vitus had to change. They had to be cruel and unopposed. To know no mercy to the enemy is to put up a front of power. That was what they had to do when they fought in Altorien…

“All these faces, they’re not anything like one or the other, but they’re one and the same, Leon. Who’s to say what face is the friend and what face is the enemy? I’ve only seen the face of the family. Mathias is like my older brother; in others, like the father I never had. He’s always been friendly to me, but our relationship’s always been more familial than anything. Real friends…” Emil wrung his hands together, as though protecting them from their own frigidness. “I suppose given my position and who I am, it’s always been difficult for me.”

“You look like you're doing a wonderful job to me, Emil.”

He saw a saddened smile wane from his master. “Do I now? I suppose it's all I can manage to look the part. It must mean I'm getting better at acting.” He gave out a weak laugh before giving his pet a pining look in the eyes. _What are you hiding, my sweet pale prince?_ “But I don't have to act as anyone else around you. I feel as though I can be myself, or at least, as much as myself I can muster.” His cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “That’s why…I don’t know, when we’re alone, Leon, even if our positions are different, I’d like you to think of me as a friend.”

Leon smiled with soft amber-gold eyes. “Of course.” It was not even a subject worth questioning, though a feeling within made him think he was lying to himself.

Emil mirrored the smile, this time with a sunny aura that melted his befuddled fog of doubt. He was smiling just for him, Leon realized, and that privilege made him feel more special than anything that had come to pass before. “Let’s go eat cake, Leon.”

“Yes, Emil.” He took his master’s hand with trepid caress, as if dreading that this was too good to be true. That he would have a friend in this cruel world. Maybe, in his wildest dreams, even something more. His thumb ran across the length of the ring that still gave off a cool touch, its plainness bearing no significance in spite of it all.


	12. His Earning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their trip drawing to a close, Mathias proposes an activity or two. Lukas searches for clues in his family's castle and history.

On the morning of their second to last day in Sar’ph, Lukas thought to go to the temple to pray. He woke earlier than his husband, the sky still black and the birds not yet broken into song. He dressed in layers and threw a dark blue cloak over the lot, a black sapphire shade of blue, the signature color of his family’s house.

He did not think he would have found any comforts being back at Bondevik Castle. The walls had been cold and biting last he had visited. He had not left in good spirits. _“I’m never coming back here again,”_ he believed were the last thoughts he had had of this place. Yet now, gazing over the stone balcony and listening to the sharp winds that blew past the dark fjords, coupled with the soft snoring of his husband, he found it difficult to cling onto his hateful disposition.

Lukas walked to his husband’s side and sat in full dress, listening, watching. His body was covered bruises and sores beneath his clothes. They had frequently made love since departing to the Surlith province: once in the springs, twice in the ship’s cabin, thrice in his old bedroom. He blushed. There were other places they had discreetly done the deed, but now was not the time to think of that.

“Mathias.” He gave his husband’s shoulder a gentle shake. The king was a heavy sleeper. It would take magic or a great force to wake him. Lukas recalled, however, how quick he had been to wake when they had gone to war. At the first toot of a battle horn, he had sprung up like a spring jack and threw on his cape, slung on his sword and axe, and stormed off to fight.

But in these times of peace, Lukas would not bring his husband to do something like that. He tried again, a little harder this time. “Mathias, wake.” He heard a moan. He was getting somewhere. “Get up. We need to go pray.”

“Pray…?” the king mumbled, still clearly half-asleep. “To you, I ask for…haaahh…a ship t’ take me an’ you away an’ find paradise.”

“Paradise,” Lukas incredulously echoed. “Paradise exists within me, and it’s going to the temple to pray to the gods. Up.”

His husband incoherently protested, but he eventually rose and dressed. He did not bother combing his hair; whatever he awoke to would be what he would sport for the day. “I was gonna say yer the only real god I worship, Lukas.”

“Blasphemy,” the Shadow was quick to hush him, yet the cheap words flattered him, nonetheless.

They walked to the ground’s temple nestled within cavern walls. It was said that trolls had once lived in the hollow space where the temple now lay. Lukas could believe it. Before magic was gifted to humans, only creatures of old had been able to carve out the Sar’ph Mountains so excessively yet precisely. Now, the walls were decorated with stitching and lights of The Nine Divine, their abstract shapes warped to the imaginations of the individual.

Lukas knelt first, praying to The Bountiful for its blessings on the land. He was not a very religious man—there were but a meager few in Crodinia that were wholly devout—but he thought to pay respects to the gods while he was within the confines of his birthplace.

Mathias, too, prayed to The Bountiful for good tidings and wealth to his people and to the ones he loved. He moved on to The Valiant, his god of preference, to keep his courage and strength as king. He also prayed to The Ornate for prosperity, The Wrought for maintaining a steadfast rule, and The Everlasting for peace and health. 

Then, Lukas prayed to The Arcane for awareness of the unknown, The Venturous for boldness, and The Fair to protect his brother’s innocence.

“Not gonna pray to The Everlasting?” Mathias asked when his husband finished. “Usually you pray t’ that one first.”

“It doesn’t feel right if it’s not here,” Lukas said with a smirk. He wondered how everyone was doing back in Markal.

“It may not be here, but I prayed to ‘im anyway. What about—?”

“Gods, no,” Lukas could have expectorated. The whole time they had been here, he had averted his eyes from the alter that stood in the center of them all, the god that was most prevalently worshipped in Bondevik lands.

“You sure?” Mathias pressed. “It’s your house’s god.”

Lukas crossed his arms and leaned onto his husband’s chest. He dared not look at the center. “As if it’s done any good for me. Don’t make this painful.”

Mathias knew he had stepped over a fine line. “I’m sorry. Sorry, let’s leave. You done here?”

“Yes.”

The sky had turned a rich purple, like black violets blushing with a hint of fresh salmon pink. Lukas recognized some of the larks that sang in his old home. He took in the morning and closed his eyes. They would be leaving tomorrow. He was glad to go be going back to Markal, however in some ways, the time he had spent here with Mathias made him feel he would miss this place.

“Whaddya wanna do today, Lukas?” Mathias was look over the horizon. He could not get enough of the fjords that surrounded his husband’s old castle.

“Nothing, honestly. We did everything I did here as a child: fish, swim, sail, ride, hunt, shop, read, pray…I can’t recall anything else.”

Mathias wore the face of a hyper puppy. He was grinning ear to ear. “That means we can do what _I_ wanna do!”

The sentence baffled Lukas. “You’re a fucking king—and I _mean_ a fucking one. You don’t need my permission to do what you want.”

“Sure, but I like it when yer happy.”

He had Lukas there. Large as his foolishness was, his heart was larger. “Alright, what do you want to do that we haven’t already done?” _Please don’t say go fishing._

“Catch a fish!”

_Oh for gods’ sakes—_

“Kidding, kidding. Lukas, I was kidding!”

It was a light blow, but Lukas managed to land a fist squarely on the king’s head. He lost his balance, however, Mathias being taller than him, and tumbled forward into his arms. The pair rolled down the hill, falling no more than two leaps into the wet grass before bursting in laughter. They forgot about the gods and the curses, and for a generous moment, there was peace.

Lukas looked up at the sky, at the clouds, at the rosy light peering from beyond the mountains. He looked up and saw Mathias hovering above him. He saw his blue eyes that twinkled with vigor and hope. He saw his lips, pale pink, like a peach’s skin, looming closer and closer until the space between them closed. He wanted this to last forever.

Later after breaking fast, Mathias decided to go hiking up the fjords for their last activity. There was a monument Lukas had told him about when they had first arrived to the southern sea, and he had aimed to see it, insignificant though it was. They packed some gear and provisions shrunken into rootskin pouches and were off.

Mathias was in better shape than Lukas, bounding past the sheer stones with the spring of a goat and the excitement of a young pup; he was considerate enough to wait for his husband every few meters, looking back or beyond to see how far they had climbed. There had been stone stairs laid out from decades prior to set the monument, however, the sheer elevation and years of sedentary ruling left Lukas severely out of shape. Perhaps they should have gone fishing after all, he miserably thought with a cold sweat.

“Lukas! Up here!” Mathias called out to him, waving. Gods, how did he have the energy, Lukas wondered? He trained with him as much as he did, but he was struggling the entire time. Had his father been alive, he might have been ashamed to call him a Bondevik.

“I’m…right behind you,” he panted. The sea breeze that blew inland offered him some relief from the ordeal. He took full advantage of its chilling touch. It stung at his throat and made his eyes dry, but he thought it better to be a little parched than overheated. He managed to climb up the rest of the way with some final words of encouragement, and when he collapsed at the top, knowing they still had to traverse the peaks, he wanted nothing more in that moment to have been born a castobat.

With his husband joining him, Mathias scanned the view from up high. “It’s beautiful,” he breathed in awe. It was as an inverted grassy path of canyons with water stretching as far as the eye could see. When the light hit the mountains just right, the fjords were bathed in an oceanic blue glimmer. “I see how these mountains could’ve been a colossi.”

Lukas gave no response, instead opening his waterskin and taking a generous gulp from its contents. He passed it onto Mathias who often forgot to stay hydrated with anything besides alcohol. After sharing some rations of cheese and bread, they rose and resumed their hike along the peaks. They could see the monument from here; it was a stone circle with blue flowers and decorated sapphires that stood as a marker for the Bondevik lands.

Mathias led the way, of course, his steps clumsy but light-footed. Lukas feared he would trip, and he would have to use a retrieving spell to pull him back onto the mountain, but the oaf never faltered and never tired. _Perhaps I should have prayed to The Valiant._

At last, they arrived at the monument. Mathias lamented not having a painter with them, so that they might immortalize the view and achievement. Lukas was glad not to be the subject of any painting; the one hanging in the ancestral hall was enough.

“Woo, I’m exhausted.” Mathias plopped himself in the center of the monument circle and picked at a flower's petals. “Weelll the ground’s a little hard but stable, there’s no one here for kilometers…”

“Are you insane?” Lukas wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You brought me all the way here so we could do _that?_ ”

“Why not? We’ve been doing it just about every day.”

“Do you not see how sweaty I am?”

“So? The ground’s cold, same with the wind.”

Lukas shook his head. He should have known better. Why would the king of all of Crodinia want to come out here to see a silly little insignificant circle of rocks? Rolling his eyes, he started to strip, first setting his cloak underneath his rootskin pouch, then removing his belt. He got to his boots when Mathias stopped him.

“I was joking, Lukas!” he laughed. “Gods, I didn’t think ya had the energy! You love me that much?”

“Just get your clothes off and fuck me,” the Shadow snapped. If he was going to get anything from climbing the fjords, it might as well have been climbing Mathias.

His husband had been right, after all. The ground was cold, the wind biting. Lukas shuddered and clung to Mathias’ shirtless body, their chests glistening and prickled with sweat. He grazed Mathias’ thigh with his exhausted length, dotting kisses on his neck. Then, he heard him snicker and stopped.

“How’re ya gonna get down the mountain, Lukas? Aincha sore?”

He was. It was a good kind of sore, but he had not thought with his head beforehand. He kissed his husband again, the lips this time. “Simple: you’re going to carry me.”

Mathias spat out a laugh. His voice echoed down the mountains and along the serpentine river. “Yer puttin’ too much faith in me.”

“You’re the _only_ one I put faith in, idiot.” Lukas moved to his chest and sucked a nipple. He did not get very far; Mathias seized him by his hair and bent to kiss him. He felt his tongue worming its way into his mouth, searching for his, that they might tangle within their caverns. Lukas guided him, his heart racing as he pressed more into their kiss. He buried his body into Mathias’ hoping to be swallowed by him, destroyed.

It must have been noon when the couple returned. Lukas had insisted on walking halfway down in case someone saw them. He barely made it to the foot of the mountain when his legs gave out. He needed ointment, medicines, and a bath. Mathias offered to join him. They took turns washing each other, studying the grooves of each other’s bodies as they scrubbed. When they finished and dried off, Lukas dressed in his house’s rich blue colors as always, a subtle scent of anise wafting in the fabric. To honor his husband’s customs, the Sun King also wore blue, fastening a black cape with satin sapphire underneath. Lukas begrudgingly admitted his husband looked good in the color.

“Maybe it was fate that I’d marry a Bondevik,” he joked. That earned him a dark look.

Mathias then followed his husband into the main study. Lukas had spent the majority of seven days here, tearing through books and scrolls until he had exhausted all plausible resources. Not once did he divulge what he had been looking for, no matter how much Mathias had pleaded, begged, bribed him, coerced…In the end, Mathias had capitulated and let his husband take to his reading.

Now, however, the Shadow took the king into a silent chamber, one of five his family used for utter muted noise. There could be three wars waging outside the chamber, but those inside would not hear a thing. It was also a good way of keeping sounds out.

“Tell me, Your Majesty, what sorts of fel’n do you recall transforming during the Sunset War?”

“Where’s this coming from now?” Lukas only ever used Mathias’ honorific when he meant to be serious or technical.

“Just answer the question,” the Shadow hissed. He was running out of places to look—and his patience.

“Lots of bigguns: wolves, lions, giant eagles, bears, tigers…There were some strange ones, not any animal I’ve ever seen in a book. Chimeras, more like.”

Lukas nodded in recollection. “Yes, I remember those, too, and only those.”

Mathias studied the silent chamber. It was no bigger than a small closet. There was a place to light a lamp and a sturdy desk for resting books and parchment. A smooth worn bench sat on the opposite end of the desk. That was it. “Why’d you bring me here to ask that?”

“Remember how those pets were kidnapped during the Red Summer?”

“Yes? They all had golden eyes, you said.”

“Right, and that was why I asked you about the faces you remembered. I wanted to know if the emperor had golden eyes, too.”

Mathias, slow to catch on, wore an expression between helpless and confused. “How does the emperor relate to the kidnapped pets?”

“I’m trying to figure out if there was some correlation with having golden eyes and, well...being fallen. Was there a madness that they shared…? The battles happened so fast. I remember the fallen, but I don’t remember the faces of those who transformed. Usually all of the fel’n were always in their beastly states, weren’t they?”

“Yup, I remember that.”

“But during the fel’n fights we held during the Red Summer, none of them had golden eyes. They were all brown or black.”

Mathias shrugged. “Maybe those with golden eyes can’t transform. Is that why they’re chosen as fancy pets? All of the owners were nobles, right?”

Lukas sighed. Maybe the golden eyes had nothing with being fel’n after all. From the way his husband was looking at things, it all seemed so ordinary and straightforward. He wondered if he was looking too far into this, that his brother had chosen an Altorienese with fanciful qualities and nothing more. He was trying to be careful, just in case that Leon boy happened to pose a threat, but it seemed that with no further evidence of those eyes, this was as far as he could go. _There has to be more…_

“You know,” Mathias started, “if there were only, say, five people in the world with eyes like yours, I’d think you were beautiful no matter what sort of person you were.”

“But you do, anyway,” Lukas bluntly replied. He would have thrown a retort his husband’s way, but he knew this was his way of complimenting him and trying to put him at ease. _I must be going mad. This is going nowhere. Mathias’ right._

“True, I do know what kind of person you are,” the king smiled with a softer edge than his usual sunshine-filled grins, “and I love him.” Lukas blushed, and Mathias kissed him. “Don’t worry about this, please? Live a little for yourself.”

“Did you ever send Tim that letter?” Lukas asked suddenly.

“Lett—? Ah that. Sent it before the festival ended. I don’t think we’re getting anything for a while, at least not until we return home.”

Lukas hummed in thought and ran his fingers through his husband’s locks. In such an enclosed space, he could smell the soap upon his scalp. His family’s castle supplied soaps of the sea, and he could taste the salt embedded in the oils as he pressed his lips into Mathias’ hair. “I think I should let this go for now,” he whispered.

“Mm? The thing about the golden eyes or the kidnappings or…?”

“The eyes. They can’t have been rare if those lowly poachers managed to snag six of them during the festival. Maybe we simply weren’t paying attention.” His fingernails dug into Mathias’ skull. “I just killed them, the fel’n...They weren’t people to me—I couldn’t let them be. Not if I wanted to keep you safe.”

Mathias grabbed his husband by the shoulders and inched his face so close to him that they nearly touched noses. “Don’t talk like yer the only one who did. I killed them, too. My _father_ killed them. You’re not alone in this, Lukas. I did it to keep you safe _and_ my people. So what if ya don’t remember the color their eyes? How ‘bout this: can ya even remember the colors of the Cross Guard?”

At that, Lukas tried to remember. He had passed by at least one of the Cross Guard every single day in the castle, even as a child when the old guard had been appointed by Mathias’ father. But no, he remembered their faces and their voices, down to the way they all laughed, but he did not remember their eyes. “No,” he said almost with relief. “I don’t.”

“See? It’s nothing. I mean Ice’s got violet eyes, an’ so does that Teacup King, but you’re not making any connections between the two, right? In fact, they’re the complete opposite from one another.”

“Right...” Listening to Mathias’ justifications, as simple as they were, had lifted an enormous weight off Lukas’ shoulders. He must have been paranoid, after all. “You’re right, Mathias. This was all a silly waste of time.”

His husband laughed his booming laughter, louder perhaps because he shared his relaxing nerves. Had they not been in the silent chamber, he could have knocked books off the library shelves. “No, it wasn’t! I’ve had the best time of my life these past two weeks. I wanna do this again.”

Lukas wanted that, too. “We can perhaps do these from time to time. I might not have found what I thought I was looking for, but I…I had fun, too.” _Fun_. What a strange thing to experience, even stranger to admit out loud.

A sigh left Mathias’ lungs. He looked lovingly into his husband’s dark blue eyes, brushing back some of his light blonde bangs that swept over his face. “We could always stay here and have some more fun.”

“Please,” Lukas withheld a smile, “another day longer and the kingdom might fall in on itself.” Not that he did not trust his brother’s council. He loved his time with Mathias more than anything else, but he also felt a duty to fulfill as Crodinia’s Shadow.

“I wasn’t talking more days, Lukas,” Mathias said, a sly smile creeping upon his lips, “I was talking about _now._ ”

“Now?” He blinked in bafflement. “As in _now_ now?” He did not need an answer. His husband’s expression and tone were enough. “Mathias, this is no longer my castle; it’s my uncle’s—”

“And I’m the king.” Though they were in the silent chamber, Mathias’ voice lowered to a false whisper. “We’ll be clean and quick. You can be as loud as you want. No one’ll hear us in here.”

In spite of himself, Lukas’ cheeks flushed rose pink. “It’ll be impossible to be clean in here. I can’t vanish it away once it’s in me, even if it spills.” His heart raced. “You know how it goes.”

“I’ll bet we aren’t the first ones who’ve tried this in here. Things happen, love and passion an’ all that. I’m sure yer uncle will understand.”

Timmen Bondevik was a great deal kinder than Lukas’ late father, Petter Bondevik. He taxed the commonfolk responsibly and allowed the mines to be mined of sapphires at a rate that kept the value of the precious gemstones at a demanding price. Most of all, he carried a sense of sympathy towards the main Bondevik line. Lukas was glad that he had given the house to his uncle, but what Mathias was proposing now was…

“No,” he blushed, despite his refusal. “We already did it once before and bathed after the hike. I don’t want to make a slight against Uncle Timmen’s kindness. How’s this? If we ever return here, I’ll consider it.”

It took Mathias a great deal of restraint to agree, Lukas could tell. He had a tendency to go quiet and still when something was amiss. Staying silent and motionless were two things Mathias had always had difficulty maintaining. “Fine, he said at last, “but that means we need ta find an excuse to come here soon.”

Lukas rolled his eyes and gave his husband a kiss, a measly gesture of compensation and affection for what he had initially wanted. “Why are you so keen on doing it here? My family’s castle isn’t the only one with silent chambers; there are some in the capital library.”

“This place is special. It’s far away from everything else. No one _really_ knows me here. It’s special for you, too, Lukas. I wanted to make memories that you’d be happy about.”

He was kind in his own foolish way, Lukas admitted. It was true that he had made pleasant memories here with his husband’s company, and he would not have minded creating another one if only if he was not trying to be somewhat selfless. He would make it up to Mathias when they returned to the capital.

Their conversation finished, the couple left the silent chamber and the study and ventured outside to the courtyard. Lukas had initially wanted to go on one final horseback ride through his family’s country, but his session with Mathias’ from that morning had left his groin too sore for saddling.

The courtyard in Bondevik Castle boasted different plants than the capital: most of the flora featured some shade of blue or black with the occasional white. Among the white petals, Lukas recognized frost lilies, his brother’s favorite flower. There were also bitterbells, lady’s tears, and midnight orchids. Dark and darker, these flowers thrived where the sun did not shine. Bondevik Castle was surrounded in sheer cliffs and vast valleys bordering the fjords. Within the valleys, there was suitable farmland enough. If weather did not fare well, the southern province of Surlith was home to the most renown mages of Crodinia. A gathering of weather mages could turn the stormiest clouds into a glorious sunny sky. But, here, under the cloak of their favored god, Bondevik Castle had a theme of darkness. Such was the mood and composure Lukas had been raised to uphold until he had met Mathias.

Now a man of twenty-three, Lukas walked among the castle grounds with years and wisdom under his cloak. Mathias also walked with him, shining his sun down where his beloved bore a clouded mind. The Shadow traced the stone walls with his fingertips, recollecting his youth before his father’s passing, before his mother’s remarriage, before Emil’s birth into the world. If not for his father’s death, he was certain that he would have married to a noble from another Surlith house and continued on with the Bondevik bloodline.

“And cursed traditions…” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Mathias perked up.

“I was thinking aloud,” Lukas caught himself. “I would have been duke of this province. My heart would have been dark and closed off. I would’ve shouldered my family’s burden forever.”

The Sun King sighed, sympathetic. He remembered how broody and abject the shy boy from the southern reaches had first been. Lukas had been too mature for his age, too sorrowful and defeated. Mathias had wanted to help him smile and make him happy. He first thought he had wanted that because it was his duty as a prince, but in time he had wanted him as a friend, and not long after that, someone far more significant. However, he knew that as much as he could try, he would never understand how his husband felt on the inside, and so he did all he could to support him every step of the way, one day at a time.

“I’m glad I met you, Lukas, if that’s anything worth mentioning. And I’d hope so! I married ya, after all.”

Lukas smiled for him, the greatest treasure in the world.

* * *

It was daybreak of the day of their departure when Mathias said he would go back to the temple. A chill rushed down Lukas’ bones at his announcement. “We just prayed yesterday.”

“It’s yer house an’ yer lands,” the king said, a sense of duty in his voice. “I should pray to all of ‘em.” By that, he meant the gods he had not prayed to the morning prior.

“I’m not going. Don’t be long. We’re sending off after we load.”

“Won’t be but a minute!” Mathias disappeared up the hill to the temple, his head of hair bending in the wind like a mop of golden grass.

Timmen Bondevik, possessing the iconic Bondevik sapphire eyes despite his progressing age, was at the docks to send off his nephew and boisterous king. He had overheard their conversation, a sparkle of blue shining from his irises. “From destruction comes creation," he recited the words of their house. "What’s His Majesty thinking on destroying?”

“What’s left of his intelligence,” Lukas joked. In secret he hoped nothing would come of the prayer. His blood felt cool most days, but he did not forget the day when he had killed the poachers. Violent thoughts, hot screams, boiling echoes resonated within his very being. It had been the same when he had crystallized the Altorienese as Leon’s punishment. He wondered now, if in exchange, he had been able to feel bliss these past two weeks. Had it been worth it, he wondered?

No. Silly. It was not that. Ill coincidence. However, the blood within him did not lie. His father’s death had been by no means an accident, either. His marriage to Mathias, his road to happiness, beneath it paved and crushed like rubble were the lives of those he had slaughtered along the way, he was certain of it.

 _Stop it. It couldn’t be helped. It was preordained._ Yet even so, he had the right to be happy, did he not?

“Mathias…”

Duke Timmen caught that. “Lukas?”

“I’m going to fetch the king,” he said, flustered, and started for the temple. It was a ways back to the castle, though not impossible on foot. Without his familiar other half at his side, the air felt more stagnant and looming than before, as if a ghost that rested heavily yet invisibly on his shoulders in a shroud. He had not planned on looking upon his family's castle so soon, its black masonry cutting through the lush scenery like a silhouette of outdoor stalagmites. Even in the summertime, his old home was as imposing and uninviting as ever. _A grand venue, indeed, Father_ , he contemptuously thought, recalling his late father's embrace of his family's dark origins and magic. The way it had oozed itself into their house colors and even their eyes was something that had always disturbed him. His blood, thin and sparse thought it presently was, had been persistent through the generations. It was a permanent stain in Crodinia. Proud his family may have been of it, it was a stain, nonetheless. 

Lukas climbed up the steps and passed through the temple archway, a fell chill once again intruding through his body. Mathias was kneeling in the center where the tallest statue lay surrounded by the other eight gods. His hands were locked in prayer. His voice was a stark soundless murmur to beings not of this world. Time seemed to fall still as Lukas watched and listened, picking up traces of his husband’s prayer in the wind, hopeful wishes for his future. Such naivety, Lukas thought, wanting to be more upset with him, that he could view him in such an upstanding light. He did not deserve it. He did not deserve him. 

Something freshly warm and wet passed through Lukas’ eyes. Tears. Wiping them gone, he walked forward and placed a trembling hand atop the king’s shoulder. Mathias turned around, and the spell was broken.

“Let’s go, Mathias,” he pleaded. “You don’t need to do this for me.”

He needed not hear another word. A stoic expression glossed over him, and he took Lukas under his cape, as if shielding him from the gods’ outwardly gaze. He promised himself to apologize later. Neither looked back, trekking out of the temple and past the gloomy suffocated walls, further and further away from The Ruined.


	13. His Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil wants to show Leon a truer side of himself.

His master came into the waking world and slowly opened his eyes. He had heard his master stirring restlessly beneath his covers during the night, as if plagued by a feverish dream. He knelt over the snow-haired prince and touched his shoulder, having grown bolder at reaching out to him as of late.

“A-Ah…? Leon, is it daybreak?” Emil’s voice was hardly a whisper, his breath slow and rested. He was so frail. Leon thought he could press himself onto him and smother him.

The Altorienese studied the prince’s fragile body as he leaned over him. Emil was utterly exposed to him, a defenseless lamb with a soft heart and brittle soul. His eyes gave off the most unusual color. Leon had always found them otherworldly; he had never seen such irises in Altorien, nor had he seen one with hair as stark white as his. He really was like a ghost, a beautiful and lonely one at that. His skin was near translucent to where he could see his bluish veins pulsing beneath his thin wrists. He neck was slender and narrow like a bird’s, more feminine than masculine. Somehow Leon was fine with that. He had bathed with his master enough times to know his sex, but he thought if the prince grew his hair past his shoulders, he could easily pass for a woman. He reached out to his master’s hand and held it, feeling a passing coolness when his fingers locked with his. His ring was still on. Always.

“Sun’s already up, Emil.” Leon looked out the window. “It’s just past the hills. Did you have a dream?”

The prince frowned and hung his head over his pillow. “Wasn’t a good one,” he mumbled. He blinked his white-lashed eyes and looked distantly away. It was fascinating, that quality about him, how his snowy hair also showed itself upon his brow and lashes. He remembered seeing his lower region when he stripped. It was a distinct white down there, as well, but Leon found it appropriately adorable on him.

 _Adorable?_ He withheld from making a face. Who was he to say whether or not his master was attractive or not? Was that even allowed? He almost felt daring enough to try. “You wanna, like, tell me about your dream?”

Emil sat up from his bed. His sleeping garments were loose on his bony shoulders. The left side of his collar slipped, and he took his hand away from Leon’s to fix it. Young though he still was, his eyes looked sunken in when waking. There was something about him that eerily resembled his brother’s face, now that Leon studied him closer. Emil had mentioned that he and Lukas were half-brothers born of the same mother and different fathers, and while their outwardly appearances had little similarities, they bore something of the same aura. “You don’t want to know, Leon.”

“Might feel better if you tell me,” Leon folded his hands across his master’s bed. “Don't forget, I’m from Altorien.”

He watched his precious prince smile and reach out to pet him. He stroked his cheek and ran his fingers through his dark bangs that fell to his jaw. It seemed whenever he touched him, he felt braver, too. “I-I was in a red place. I’ve been there before. There were voices calling out to me, but I didn’t know if I was supposed to be scared or angry or confused.” He curled his knees to his chest. “It was as though I was feeling all of those things at once. The voices were so haunting, I didn’t want to see where they were coming from, but I knew if I ran away or hid, they would find me, anyway. That scared me the most.”

Leon blinked. That did not seem so frightening, he thought. Among some of his own slumbering nights, he could scarcely tell the difference between dream or nightmare. “Did you remember what they were saying?”

“I don’t…” Emil’s eyes fell to his hand. He ran his thumb over his ring. “There was a jumble of voices. Somehow, I…” He heavily swallowed and took a breath. “Leon, I think before my brother and Mathias return, I should go pray.”

“Pray?” he echoed. He had heard praises of The Nine Divine within his caravan as they had drawn closer to the Crodinian capital, so he was not unfamiliar with them, however, he did not know how prevalently the gods were worshipped in these lands. He did not even know how religious the prince was. 

“I haven’t prayed since I turned sixteen,” Emil sighed. “I wouldn’t want to slight the gods. It’d be a poor example as a prince. But you’re from Altorien. Your people—S-Sorry. The Altorienese don’t exactly worship The Nine Divine there, do they?”

Leon shrugged. “They were around here and there, you know, like, temples and stuff. But I wasn’t raised on the gods, no.”

Emil’s eyes clouded over in a violet haze. “I see…Then, perhaps after we’ve finished all our errands, I can take you with me. You don’t have to pray if you don’t want to. Um, do you?”

“I’m good.” He could go on living without having to worship gods that had never helped him in the past.

They went to dress after that, Leon choosing a practical maroon doublet that pulled over a dark sleeved shirt. Below, he wore sturdy canvased trousers and his short black boots he had grown to enjoy. He checked himself in the mirror for any odds and ends that might have escaped his attention and found nothing out of place. With the king and the Shadow returning, he thought to put in the extra effort of looking presentable for their arrival.

Emil, meanwhile, had chosen a regal deep shade of blackened plum purple for his raiment. He matched his top with black leggings and draped himself with a heavy velvet cape that disguised his slouched thin shoulders. The dark colors brought out the best in his light features, and Leon thought his face looked like a brilliant moon against a night sky.

“Again with this…” the prince muttered grumpily as he fiddled with his hair. There were sprigs sticking out like stubborn twigs from the tossing and turning he had done in his sleep. He tried to smoothen out his curls, but they flung back in place as soon as he would lift his fingers.

“I think you look cute the way you are,” Leon chose to say. He gauged his master’s reaction.

“Cute…?” Emil stopped fingering his hair and stared abashed at his pet. “Wh-What makes you think I look cute?”

He pushed himself, testing the waters. “Your face is young and boyish. Your demeanor is gentle. You always speak so timidly when you’re around me, even though I’m your pet. It helps that your hair is white. In Altorien, we associated white with purity. Sometimes death, but you’re too soft for something so…maybe ‘violent’ is, like, the word I’m looking for?”

“Soft…” the fair prince repeated. He fidgeted with his hands, picking at the ring around his finger. “I don’t know what I expected when I turned sixteen. It’d be foolish for me to think I’d magically transform into a grand man, but am I really that hopeless looking?”

Leon cocked his head. “You thought that’s what I was telling you? You’re not hopeless, Emil. I said you were cute. That’s not a bad thing, either.”

He saw the prince blush. The expression only made him cuter. _He’s not mad. Could that mean…?_ “I’m a man. I shouldn’t be cute.”

“My mistake.” Leon grinned. He _was_ cute. Wonderful and adorable. Charmingly helpless. “Master Emil is gallant, wise, thoughtful, and full of honor.”

“Ah, stop it,” Emil grumbled. He was blushing like a beetroot. He could not go outside with his cheeks brushed in a rosy hue. He patted his face, hoping to clear his mind and skin, but it only made the color redder. When he finally composed himself, he did not look as flustered as Leon had hoped; rather, a troubled aura had overcome him. “Let’s go, Leon. We’ve have a lot to do today and little time to do everything.”

Leon bowed at held out a hand, similar to the maids he had seen in and around the kingdom. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”

* * *

_Mancel_ was scheduled to return to the southern piers today at nightfall. By evening, after all his hearings and errands had been attended to, Emil took Leon to a place he had never visited before. “The temple,” he had simply called it. Leon had known there was at least one somewhere within the capital, but he had not seen the alters or statues of those the Crodinians would call gods. He came to learn that the closest place of worship to them was situated between the castle and the walls to the city. It had been constructed there to act as a bridge between royalty and commoner, rich and poor.

The temple was a tall triangular shape all built of ferroak, a series of animal carvings leaning from several directions. Leon counted four carvings on the east, four on the west, and one in the center. The lone carving loomed over the pair when they passed through the entrance. Inside pillars were lit with magic; flames of the colors of the rainbow glowed dimly against wooden grains. Hiding just beyond the fires were tall statues of what had to have been the gods. Leon studied their shapes and the offerings made to them. A fierce figure not wholly man or eagle was offered daggers, arrowheads, and knives. A gentler shape with soft curves chiseled into stone had a basket of flowers, sweets, and combs presented at its feet. There were other offerings: books and candles, coins and jewels, powders and oil, an urn, and so on.

Emil led Leon past a hooded figure with a long beard, a priest Leon assumed, and knelt in front of the statue with weapons as offerings. The temple’s interior whistled with the faint wind of the outdoors, but if Leon listened closely, he could hear parts of his master’s prayer faint on his lips.

“…courage and strength to make them proud…bestow to me…blessing of The Valiant…”

When the prince finished, he rose and took Leon to the next statue with books and candles and other studious material at its floor. He prayed to this one, too, hands folded in front of his face. “O’ Venturous that is bold and curious, let my prayer reach your open ears…”

Emil did this for seven of them. By the eighth, an uneasy expression betrayed the prince’s quietness. Leon craned his neck to the statue, an unsightly demon of jagged wings, long fangs, and sickled vertebrae that protruded from its back. At its base were offerings of bones, shattered chains, and urns of what looked to be ashes. With some reluctance, the prince restlessly said his prayer and quietly stood to meet the final and ninth statue.

Leon crossed his hands behind his back and waited for his master to recite his last prayer. He studied the statue, a stunning contrast of polished white stone, soft feathery wings, a gentle but grand face, and a body with smooth scales that plated its entire skin from the snout to its four feet and down its tail. Leon decided this one was his favorite.

Minutes must have passed as Emil stood there unkneeling. The white flames surrounding this statue crackled impatiently at their oiled base, and the surrounding candles dripped and pooled with melted wax. The prince looked so lonely in that moment, lost even. Leon desperately wanted to pull him aside and comfort him if not for the wandering priests shuffling about the temple grounds.

Eventually the prince rose from the last statue’s base. Leon suddenly heard a whisper of words. _Part of his prayer?_ Then, his master turned heel and went to him. “Let’s go,” he said, taking his hand and leading him away. Leon flashed a look behind him and squinted beyond the white fire at the statue one last time.

It was as though they had been holding their breaths in the temple. When Emil at last took his pet from what was claimed to be a scared place, he exhaled so loudly, Leon feared he would cough. “Master, is everything alright?” Worry pooled into the Altorienese boy’s eyes. “You’ve been looking awful since this morning.”

“I must steel myself,” the prince said, a hard look in his expression. His innocent lavender irises had grown stern and determined as of late, yet in this moment, there was a hint of faltering beneath his composed visage.

“You’re going to take yourself away?” Leon asked, unfamiliar with the Crodinain phrase.

“To prepare myself,” Emil clarified, “for something difficult ahead.”

“Their Majesties come back, like, tonight, right?”

“It’s not that.” There was a sorrowful pang concealed behind the prince’s smile. It still surprised Leon how much it hurt when he saw his master so upset. “Actually, it is and it isn’t. I’ve been meaning to prove myself and grow. I want to be firm. However, sometimes I wonder if I’ve been holding myself back, too.” He abruptly removed his hand from Leon’s and rubbed the skin where his ring lay.

“You’re hiding something,” Leon could not help blurting.

The prince flinched, a look of pain cast in his eyes that Leon wished he had not inflicted. “I’ve only ever been honest with you, Leon.”

“You’ve been honest, but you’re not telling me all the truths.” He suddenly heard himself saying, “You can tell me everything. I am _nothing_ here. No one will care because I’m not important to them. I only matter to you—or I thought I did.” Why was he confessing this all? “I want to help you, Emil. Pet or not, it hurts seeing you like this.”

The prince looked like he was suffocating. His eyes were wide pearls, his mouth hung open like a fish on land. He breathed no breath and spoke no word. Quick as his stupor had paralyzed him, he flashed a look at his surroundings, seeing if anyone else had heard the pet say such things to a prince. Then, he seized Leon’s hand and scampered away from the temple as fast as he dared move without drawing attention.

Leon knew not how long they ran. He saw brick walls flash by, tapestries furl in the wind, servants stopping or moving out of the way, the sunset’s light pass before them. They did not stop until they reached the sea, the docks spread out with flags of colorful patterns and shapes. Seabirds screamed into the heavens and glided lazily along the rare summer drafts. The smell of fish reeked in the harbors, and seals grunted and barked off in the distance.

Emil took him far beyond the anchored ships and toiling sailors. Farther and farther he walked with purpose until they reached the end of the longest dock, the one reserved for _Mancel's_ return. Wheezing and beaded with cold sweat, he sat himself down and dangled his feet past the floorboards, never minding the freezing seawater lapping at his boots.

“You shouldn’t have said that there,” the prince exhaled. “There are people who would…Ah, never mind. I suppose if I told you to call me by name, that should’ve warranted some friendship of mine.” He urged his pet to sit beside him and look out to the horizon. A seal poked its shiny bald head out of the water before disappearing beneath the surface. “Tell me, Leon, how much do you know about the Crodinian gods?”

“Not much if anything,” he replied. The water stung his ankles, but he withheld himself from complaining. He hoped his feet would not freeze off before their conversation was done.

Emil let out a sigh. “That’s not surprising, you know. We recognize the gods and hold holidays and ceremonies here in their honor, but I’ve heard there are few who are wholly devout to The Nine Divine in Altorien. True worshippers are so scattered that I never bothered to teach you about them.”

“Are you a believer?”

The prince burst into laughter, loud but sorrowful given his twisted expression. “I believe in them. I’ve always grown up with them in mind.” He held his hands up, tucking his right thumb into his palm. “Per their grouped name, there are nine gods we worship in Crodinia, though not all are worshipped in other kingdoms: The Arcane, The Bountiful, The Fair, The Valiant, The Venturous, The Wrought, The Ornate, The Everlasting, and The Ruined. You saw these at the temple.”

“The statues, yes. I’ve heard about them from your people here and there, too,” Leon nodded.

“They grant us blessings when we send them prayers: luck, virtue, bravery, wisdom, potential, prosperity, and so forth...It's also believed that we were able to win the Sunset War because we had the blessings of the gods on our side.” 

Leon could not have cared less about the war Altorien had lost. Instead, he asked, “What were you praying for?” 

Emil bit at his lower lip. He looked somewhat flustered in his confession. “Well, I wasn’t making prayers, so much as I was making wishes. I wished to be strong, reasonable, wise, and gracious. ”

Leon had to smile. “With those qualities, you’d make a good king, Emil.”

“Perhaps, but no, I wouldn’t.” Leon caught his master lower his eyes in modesty. “I’m not blessed to be charismatic or smart or brave. I know what I should be, but I’m not any of those things. It’s impossible. My existence prevents me from being so.”

To Leon, that sounded like an excuse. He had not known of his master’s life before being brought under his ownership, but he did not think he had lived without trying to improve himself. If anything, he could be better. _As I once could have been._ “You’re strong and smart to me, Emil.” 

His master flushed a delicate peach. He was so fragile that Leon thought he could break him if he held him. He almost wanted to see that, the trembling prince collapsing into a million pieces into his arms and weeping into his chest. And _he_ would be there to comfort him and reshape him into someone more familiar, more loving.

Yet as much as Leon yearned, he sat poised and still, listening. Emil had looked away from him, staring at the sea as if in hopes that the true rulers of Crodinia would return and relieve him of this burden. “I can never be king, Leon. Not if I wanted to. Even if by some ridiculous happenstance Mathias and Lukas relinquished the throne and I was the last one left in their bloodlines, the crown will not fall to me.”

Leon blinked, not understanding. “Why?”

“Because…” Emil held his tongue and clutched his chest. Leon could hear him breathing harder against the sea breeze. “I can’t, Leon. Not yet. I don’t want you to know. You _deserve_ to, but you’ll come to hate me and fear me. I don’t want that. I’ll lose you.” Tears fell from his eyes. His amethyst irises glistened like gemstones in the twilight. “I want you to stay my friend, not just my pet, but if I’m not honest with you, how can you trust me?”

With a hand gentler than Leon had ever known, he brushed the wet beads from the prince’s cheeks. He looked into his diamond-sparkling eyes that gleamed from weeping and planted a soft kiss atop his forehead. Then, he held him, nestling his trembling head in his arms, muffling the sounds of the one who had suffered all his life. He wondered if Emil could hear his heart coming alive.

 _This_ was that feeling. He had heard it told in tales, sung in songs, fawned over by silly women and foolish men. This compulsion had destroyed kingdoms and cast thousands into war. It also had the power to rebuild bridges, turn enemies to friends, right wrongs of history. It was one of the few virtues that had made the ancient ones lose to the humans long long ago, that had driven them from the land and into the sea for all eternity.

“Oh Emil,” he breathed for what felt like the first time, “I can’t hate you. For you, I’d turn dawn to dusk and fire into water. I’d do the impossible. I’m saying this not as yours, but of me. You’re the last light I have in this dark world. I’ll do anything to protect and cherish you.”

He felt Emil hiccup. “…When did your...? Has your Crodinian always been this good?”

Leon had to chuckle. “What can I say? You’ve taught me well.”

A laugh. It was the sweetest sound to Leon’s ears. Emil clung to him and held fast until his breathing steadied. His ring glinted in the setting westerly sun. From the mainland, lanterns filled with glowstone were being illuminated. It was almost nightfall.

“Can you promise me something, Leon?” a voice revealed itself beneath his tunic. “If I am not myself or if I should fall into somewhere of no return, will you find me and bring me back?”

Leon tightened his hold on Emil, just slightly enough that he would not hurt him. He did not understand. He was right here. He would never let him from his sight if he could help it. And Emil was always Emil: gentle, kind, quiet, and sad. It was barely a promise he thought he would have to keep, but he made the vow, anyway.

“I promise.”

“Then prove it to me.” The prince lifted himself from Leon’s chest and stared at him with large eyes, determined and clear though red and swelling with tears. “Even if I should not be what I am and what I’m not, will you trust me, as I trust you?”

Leon knew all the words his master was speaking, but he struggled to understand their meaning. It was as though he was trying to tell him something deeper, but he needed more context. “I do trust you, but…what are you saying?”

Emil forced a smile despite his crumbling constitution. He did it for him. “The me you see before you…the me that I am and am not…what does your heart say about me?”

“That I love you,” Leon confessed in knowing these were his true feelings. “I’ll protect you and stay will you so long as you will have me by your side.”

The one and only person he had sworn himself to broke his gaze and laughed a little, sniffling. He twisted his ring around as if idling, until Leon saw him lift it from his finger and remove it completely.

It was an ordinary thing, the ring. From the day he had been pulled into Emil’s world, Leon had seen it worn upon his master’s finger. But now, he watched it travel from one hand to another. He felt the chilly caress of hands move onto him and take his right index finger, the same which Emil had worn his ring on. The cool metal slipped onto him and rested, a perfect fit though he could have sworn their hands were of different sizes. For a moment, he thought something special would happen to him, a surge of power, a bond magically realized. But there was not anything significant. It was a plain ring, nothing more.

“I shall leave myself to you. Hate me or fear me if you will, then, Leon,” Emil spoke, a strain in his voice, “but do…not…f-forget…me…”

“Emil…? What—?” Leon let out a wordless cry. Vermillion trails of blood flowed from his master’s eyes, spilling down his cheeks in thin red rivers and pooling down his chin. More came from his mouth like a macabre fountain. When Leon flew to touch him, he reeled back, yelping at the prince’s touch. Heat seared his fingers like touching red-hot iron. His master’s skin had always been so cold, and now…

The boy who had been Emil staggered backward as if drunk or dazed. His eyes rolled back into his skull and his head leaned up to the sky like a man hanging from invisible gallows. The sounds that ushered from his throat were not human. Guttural throes left his lungs and grew louder and louder still. Leon thought he heard a roar. He seized when he saw a splitting red gash zip its way across Emil’s neck and spatter forth a geyser of blood. Leon tried to yell but no sound came out. He felt a spray of molten crimson stain his skin, clothes, and hair in steaming spurts, burning him through and sending him fleeing from the chaos. He got as far as the edge of the dock before looking back and witnessing another gash cut its way down the center of Emil’s body, from its chest down his stomach and between his legs. Leon screamed when he saw his body come apart, blood and steam cascading all over the floor. A loud explosion erupted, wet and sopping, wood splintering, the splash of seawater. Madness.

A cloud of red filtered its way through the docks. Sailors and deckhands noticed the iron-filled smells first if not the sound. Some gathered to the farthest dock, others turned tail and fled, a few hid away. What they and Leon saw clawing at the dock was a large pulpy shape, spewing blood from its body and down into the sea. Where its blood fell, clouds of steam hissed and bubbled, dying the waters sanguine. A low growl emanated from within the beast’s breath. Leon could scarcely make out the shape of a head, eyeless, triangular in shape, two long branchlike appendages that might have been the skeletal structures of wings, and a long tail.

“Emil,” he hoarsely whispered. No, this was not Emil. This was a monster. This was not even fel’n or fallen. This was something beyond this world.

_“The me you see before you…the me that I am and am not…what does your heart say about me?”_

Leon gasped. This _was_ Emil. This had been him all along. Beneath that soft white exterior, this form had been festering inside of him, eating and consuming him, hurting him.

His fists balled. He felt the weight of the ring on his finger. It pressed to his bones, nagging his palm. He did not know how he was going to do it, but he was going to turn Emil back. He would fix this somehow. Emil would not hurt anymore. They could go back to reading under the willows, snacking by the ponds, sharing jokes before bed. He wanted that more than anything.

Leon ran to him. The heat that radiated from the beast’s body bore its way into his eyes and nearly blinded him. He was walking into an inferno. He knew not how such energy could have been contained in the fragile prince all this time, especially without so much as a visible trace. He cursed himself for not noticing it before: his careful steps, his soft voice, his reserved and quiet nature… _I’m sorry I didn’t see it, Emil._ Yet he persevered. One step at a time, he moved closer to the red mass when a sudden tremor sent him tumbling off the docks and into the sea.

Darkness took him. That which he had feared most came rushing back like the water filling his lungs. He begged for air. Breaking through the surface, he gasped and coughed, the salted notes stinging his throat. He searched blindly for a holding, not finding anything in the pitch black and red flurry. By some divine miracle, he touched a column of wood, and that was enough to use as a support to grab ahold of. Clutching the leg of the dock, he craned his head up to see the dock bending. The creature was growing. Against all forms of magic and physics, it had somehow gained mass. The dock would not hold it for long, he realized fearfully. He had to leave this place. Searching in the faint firelight that littered the piers, he saw a slope that led up to solid ground, no doubt originally used for ships. He took a deep breath of air and pushed from the docks, paddling for the sloped edge. When he reached it, he scrambled aboard and crawled out onto the stone, gasping more in relief than for air. That trivial ordeal had nearly taken his life. His legs were like wet driftwood, his chest a hulking anchor.

From a distance, Leon heard men shouting. They had noticed Emil, or rather the beast. _They’re going to hurt him._ Prevailing through his exhaustion, he sprung to his feet. Mages and soldiers had formed a semicircle at the dock where the red monster crawled and groaned. The dock began to buckle with its immense weight, and the men had noticed this.

“Aim for the boards!” one shouted. “Send it into the sea!

Mages summoned fire and set the dock aflame with colors of red, orange, green, blue, and purple.

“No!” Leon yelled, but his voice was lost in the beast’s roar. He watched helplessly as the dock splintered and cracked with deafening snaps until the entire strip leaned to one side and fell into the water. The men cheered in triumph having vanquished the beast below.

Just like the old stories of The Dawning, Leon thought, remembering when man had driven eldritch dragons and colossi into the Sea of R’as. Was this what had consumed Emil, he wondered? He had no time to ponder or even mourn, for not even a minute later, the water began to bubble. The cheering died down, and the men backed up and braced themselves.

Then, from the sea’s depths, a deafening roar pierced the air. A torrent of water and steam and blood exploded outward, sending with it a force of wind that knocked everyone to their feet, banners ripping to shreds, and ships rocking nearly sideways. The creature that was Emil had grown again, faster and bigger than before. Even on four legs, it was a good two stories tall, large enough to not drown in the sea.

Leon had no time to feel relief or fear. He scampered away at a good distance, watching the men get to their feet and hurl spells and weapons at the beast. All matters of blows and magic were shrugged off or absorbed. Where spells and metal should have at least grazed the beast’s flesh, white flames sputtered forth and licked them away.

 _White flames_ , Leon gasped. _Cold fire._ Emil could summon his healing fire even in this form. If he was able to do that, he was practically immortal. Leon had to get to him now, before he caused any further damage in his impenetrable state. But how? He did not know if any semblance of humanity remained within, nor did he entirely know if the beast was hostile.

“It’s not working!” “Harder!” “Fall back!” “Steady your arrows—!”

Leon could not clearly remember what happened after that. Without warning, a blasting wave of heat and light came forth and enveloped everything in a blinding white. He felt his feet leave the ground, his body sail through the air, something sharp and cold stab through his side. Then a sharp ringing pitch. His head swam. Visions and lights danced in his eyes, two of the same people walked in opposite directions, voices and screams broke in muffled sounds. He tried to stand, but when he did, he realized his feet were already touching the earth.

He took a step forward and found that his body would not move with his legs. His senses returning, his breath came back to him, his lungs refilling with air. _Breathe. Relax. Listen._ He saw the docks on fire. Mages were bringing water from the sea onto land to extinguish the flames, but they would not go out, and when the water did fall onto the fires, hot steam spread that sent men screaming and collapsing onto the ground. Some had violent blisters and sores bursting from heat. Ice and wind had no effect, either.

“Wait for me, Emil…” Leon panted and tried to move again. Still nothing. It was as though his body had been pinned by an unseen force. Groaning, he braced his hands behind him and felt a wall. He pushed forward and felt a tug in his abdomen. His heart gave a lurch. His stomach turned. He moved his eyes downward and saw the sharpened iron rod that protruded from his body.

“Ahh. Ahhh…!” He tried to look away, but his eyes did not move. The adrenaline still fresh in his veins, the pain did not come to him, however he knew if he lingered here, he would undoubtedly pass out from shock. Clenching his teeth, he gripped the rod with his hands and pulled at it. His body gave some, but not enough. Stars flashed in his eyes, and he knew suffering once more.

 _I’m not dying here_ , he stubbornly swore. _After everything…! Everything that’s happened! It doesn’t end here!_ He screamed into the red blackness. Dizzying white flashes panged in his head; a cool stinging wave pulsed through his side. He buried his feet into the stone and jolted forward, inching little by little as blood spurted from his wound. His blood stickied his hands and made him slip, the gush making it just easy enough to move forward. After this, he thought, he would need to seal the wound. He was going to die of blood loss before long, but who would save an Altorienese nobody when several more were dying from the explosion?

Teeth clenched and sweat dripping, he pulled and trudged, feeling the cold metal turn hot from the beast’s exposure. He tried to breathe, and fire filled his lungs. A part of him wished to have it all end and die, but the other part of him thought only of Emil, he who had pulled him from the darkness. _I’ll pull you out, as well._

Slowly and painfully, he felt the rod give out from behind him and release him onto the ground. He gasped for breath and found fire once more. The stones were also hot to the touch. He looked at his surroundings. Flames as far as the eye could see. He smelled a shower of blood where a cool summer fog should have shrouded the docks. Bodies laid strewn about, healers rushed to relieve their comrades of some pain, while others wandered aimlessly for shelter. Leon stole a second to see if there were any unoccupied healers nearby, but he knew better. He was nothing to them. Finding the closest piece of wood, he grabbed it and set it alight with a nearby fire.

What was it they said when something ill was about to happen here? Leon searched his memories and spoke in bitter contempt at his situation when the words found him. Ah, yes. “Gods give me strength.” He pressed the fire to his gaping wound and let out an ear-piercing scream. All at once the adrenaline left him and replaced his body with needles that boiled his skin and cooked his blood. He smelled his own flesh cooking and thought he would vomit if not for the fact that he might pass out from fatigue. When the deed was done, his lungs flittered for air and met smoke. He swung the burning stick around and braced himself for his backside. The second time was no better. Again the spikes of pain shot through his body, begging for him to stop, but he did not. He held the flames to his back and let it burn and seal the blood through. Then, he dropped the stick and came crashing down on his knees.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting some rest come to him. The stone stung his palms, the screams deafened his ears, and the heat dulled his senses. In spite of that, it felt so good to rest. He wanted to lie down and sleep. It was not wet; it was not dark. He could be at peace here.

No…

No.

No!

NO!

 _NO!_

Leon threw open his eyes. He had to keep going! He had promised! He rose to his feet and felt an ache, but he stood tall. Where was Emil? He listened for the sound of confusion and destruction. Where those sounds came, he would find him.

Something roared in the distances. _Emil._ Leon broke into a run, ignoring the pain that still wracked his body. He had to hurry. If he had been hurt in that explosion, he was certain Emil’s form was indiscriminate in its feral attack. Forward he went until he came to the castle walls. Beyond that was the southern grounds of the main castle. If that was attacked, the aftermath would be catastrophic.

“Don’t let it pass!” Leon swerved to see a man with a sanguine cape and golden crosses on his armor. It was one of the Cross Guard. He was leading a formation of knights armed with swords slung in hilts but not drawn. From their robe-like garb, they must have been mages. “Enforce the walls! Build shields, men!” The mages chanted a spell and summoned a wall of light that formed along the outer castle perimeters. It flashed blue and red and not unlike glass, but if the stories were true, then they could make the castle impervious to arrows, javelins, even slung boulders. _Is that enough to hold back this beast?_

They would soon find out, as Leon saw Emil at last. In his monstrous form, he had leveled a trade building and was clawing at the base of the stone walls, shrugging off arrows and magic like sticks and leaves. Those with swords, spears, and axes dared not venture closer, for the heat he gave off burned their armor and sent sweat blinding their vision. The beast was still red and raw, a near pile of meat and bones without skin, feathers, or scales or any kind. It blindly threw its oozing claws at the stone and tore through the heavy bricks like balls of dirt, shattering the magical wall that the mages had put up.

“Again!” the Cross Guard roared. “Barrier up! Hold steady! Stronger this time!”

But the attempt was futile. Leon had run ahead, yet he saw three more walls form behind the broken stone. The beast tore through the magic like it was paper. Then, in retaliation for its efforts, it turned to the gathering of mages and charged. The Cross Guard shouted an order to form a bubble-like shield around their formation, but as before, all it took was a single stomp of its clawed foot to pop open the magic dome. Leon felt a queasy unease as he saw the collective men squashed unrecognizable beneath the monster’s foot, cloth, blood, entrails, and bones spattered on the bricks. It was unstoppable.

The mages no more, the beast then turned and started past the wall. “Emil, stop!” Leon yelled after him. His body was fitting to burst. The pain would not leave him. Bones and muscles twisted with each step, sending signals to make him stop, but he did not. He tripped on a fallen piece of rubble and landed face first on the pavement. His palms tore open to bright rips of scarlet. Some dirt entered the wounds. His eyes only went to the ring.

 _The ring…_ Emil had removed it from his finger and had given it to him. Was that the source of his transformation? It was as good a chance as he had, even if he had no idea how he would refit the ring on the beast’s finger.

Gripping his hands and standing, he started for the castle grounds where Emil had ripped through when a terrible pierce and shattering screech split the air. His heart stopped beating. He had heard this sound before. Legs shaking, he arched his head back. A dreadful smell of smoke and winter. A towering spiked wall of dark ice. Above, a relentless figure stood at its peak. The Shadow had arrived.


	14. His Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The madness continues.

Mathias had been the first to see the red cloud and had notified his beloved immediately. He had seen it only once before, and he thought that once had been enough. The docks were in sight, though most of the proper anchoring stations had been destroyed in the chaos. If need be, he would plunge into the sea and swim ashore.

Back then, his father had been the one to quell the madness, the fury and feral nature of a broken divine being still etched into his memories. _Father, do you see this, too?_ He touched a fragment of dark ice that had embedded itself into the _Mancel_. When Lukas had seen the crimson cloud, he had leapt from the ship and slid down a curved ramp of blackened magic. Mathias could scarcely believe how quickly one could move across the sea with a single strand of magic, but his dear husband was one of a kind. He loved him for that, yet it also made him worry. Lukas had gone ahead, just like last time. He had done it before, and he would do it all over again for his brother.

“Your Majesty, what are your orders?” The ship’s first mate looked ahead to the destruction; it was clear the sailors did not want to dock so soon with the sea boiling and the piers on fire. Surely if they remained at sea, they would be unharmed—

“Land,” he ordered, “but do _not_ leave the ship. If you see somethin’ burst from the fire, call the windmasters, raise anchor, and leave off. Don’t go near the flames. Normal magic won’t put ‘em out. I’ll go on my own.”

Though his commands were more than easy enough to follow, the sailor protested. “And what would you do, Your Majesty, go out there and get incinerated? There are men dying out there!”

“Tell that to my husband then!” Mathias snapped, jabbing a finger at the immortal flames. “I already gave you your orders, so follow them!”

“I…What? The Shadow is already on land?”

Mathias swallowed a dry lump. “He’s doing this alone, but I need to be there.” He turned away and looked only forward. Dark images swirled in his head. “I’m not lettin’ you do this alone again, Lukas…”

* * *

Leon never thought he would feel the cool touch of ice ever again. He dreaded the look of the blackish purple ice magic, but in this short spark of a moment, the relief from the heat gave him some comfort. Never had he witnessed this level of magic before, not as a child, not during the war, not ever. The Shadow cast sheet upon sheet of ice to shelter the surrounding buildings from flames. It even _melted_ , Leon noticed, and when it did, the flames fizzled out and quelled. _So both the ice and fire are special magics._ He watched helplessly on as the Shadow jumped from pillar of ice to another with determination and composure, as effortless as jumping over rock slabs on the ground. This was what a master of the arcane arts was capable of. Emil’s mortal magic was a pathetic flicker in comparison.

When the flames died down, the Shadow turned his direction to his brother. _He knows_. Leon’s stomach turned. _He knew all along. The king must’ve known, too. Who else knows Emil is like this?_ But that also gave him hope. If he knew that the beast was his brother, then he must have known how to revert him back. His courage renewed, he went closer to the beast that had been walled off on all sides by dark ice.

The Shadow walked a pillar of purple to his brother, his eyes betraying no sign of faltering. His fortitude was strong like his magic, Leon observed; that must have been how he had mastered his craft so well. He watched from below when the Shadow looked down and saw the fleshy red beast, clawing and screaming like a trapped animal. Leon held his breath. He saw a hand raise from the Shadow’s caped body. And then, a storm of ice fell in showers down in the pit.

_“No!”_ Leon shrieked. Breath left his body when he heard the cries of the beast. An airy squeal mixed with a savage roar bellowed from the dark crystalline walls. Leon searched for some kind of access into the pit, anything. He saw the castle walls and noticed the ice sticking to stone. Heart racing, he sprinted to the nearest opening and clambered up the stairs, reeling around the spirals until it gave way to the top catwalks. He climbed the ice, holding onto anything he could. Heat gave way to biting cold. The ice was as cruel as its conjurer, cutting through his skin and making him slip along sheer slopes. Leon did not know how he managed to hang on and reach the pit’s edge, but in he prevailed through his desperation. He leaned over and waved his hands, hoping the Shadow noticed.

Notice or not, the Shadow did not relent. He turned the hail of crystals into sharp javelins that rose and bore into the beast’s body. This, the creature felt. Where ordinary metal and magic had failed, somehow the Shadow’s dark ice managed to inflict pain on his red flesh. Large chunks of muscles and fragmented bones stripped from its body and fell steaming to the ground. It let out a bellow of agony even as its form grew smaller. Leon’s heart tore apart, and he screamed some more, hoping the Shadow had some inkling of mercy.

But it did not stop. Down and down, the ice came, until the creature was covered with darkened ice like a spiked mace. It was rendered immobile, yet it still tried to claw and break free. White flames licked its pulpy bones and muscles, but they did nothing to ward off the obsidian-like spikes. Its lungs should have been punctured through, yet the beast still roared, a sadder wailing note this time. It was as though it was crying.

“Please…” Leon begged. He saw a loose piece of hail that had missed the creature. Without another thought, he picked it up and threw it as far as he could in the Shadow’s direction. The hail caught him on the leg, and he finally turned, seemingly snapping from a trance.

“You…” Emil’s brother leered. He made a column of stairs down to him, seeing that the beast was unable to move. “I’m surprised you’re still alive.” He looked at the burnt wound that Leon had cauterized. “Barely. You saw his transformation, didn’t you?” Leon grimly nodded. “Yet you’re still here. Why didn’t you run?”

“I made a promise to him,” Leon spoke in perfect Crodinian. “I told him I’d bring him back if he’d fall.” He bit his lip. “I didn’t know this was what he meant.”

A light flashed in the Shadow’s normally draped eyes. “He told you of his own accord?” His eyes fell to Leon’s hand and saw what lay around his finger. “Emil, you foolish child…!” A wave of emotion washing over him, he swept his hand around and rained down more dark ice that splashed blood over both of them.

Leon grabbed his hand, exhausted though he was. “Stop that! He’s your brother! Are you trying to kill him?!”

_“Unhand me!”_ The Shadow jerked his hand free and delivered a fierce slap to his face. “I’ll deal with you later, but this must be done! It’ll continue to grow unless it is destroyed again and again. It won’t kill him, what I’m doing. And how _dare_ you think I’d do that to him.” His words were so full of disgust towards Leon’s declaration that he rendered him silent, his strike still stinging on his cheek. “Every time he does this, it loses more of itself. This won’t be enough. Even now, The Everlasting is building resistance to my power.”

Leon paused. _The Everlasting?_ He had heard of that name not that long ago. Where was it again? A push came to his chest.

“You’re in the way,” the Shadow huffed as he shoved him. “Move, so I won’t kill the little pet my brother seems to adore so much.” He sank more ice into the creature’s shrinking body. “Gods, and here I thought giving you to him would help him steady his nerves…”

 _Gods…_ That was right. One of the gods Emil had listed off as The Nine Divine was called The Everlasting. Time stood still for him. His heart gave out to the prince.

The earth shook. Against all odds, somehow the red beast began to move. It crumbled spikes and stones and slashed at the wall, releasing a cloud of steam that blinded both Leon and the Shadow.

“Ugh…I knew it,” Emil’s brother coughed. “I won’t be able to contain him much longer.” He continued to enforce the walls, but somehow the beast found new strength and began to ram it. The Shadow jumped away to safety, while Leon toppled down the melting ice onto the other side of the castle walls, to where the inner kingdom stood. Then, in a deafening crash, the wall broke down, and the red beast came tumbling out.

“Ah…” Leon trembled and got to his feet. “Emil…?” He was about to move when something cracked in the air. The beast writhed a moment before something blue and fiery exploded on its neck, exposing blood, fat, and pus in a swathing stench. The smell of steaming water and rotten eggs tinged the air. A hint of what smelled like firecorn powder stung his nostrils. He had smelled this before, on the old battlefields of western Altorien. _Alchemic gunpowder._ He looked back and moved his eyes to the remnants of the wall. Margrave Väinämöinen was perched above a pillar, wielding what looked like a long metal staff with bolts and ends fixated at the base closest to him.

 _An alchemag…_ He had never seen one of the newer weapons before, only heard rumors of them being tested on the Altorienese battlegrounds during the Sunset War. Supposedly the bullets and gunpowder were imbued with alchemic properties. They were thought to be so potent that only barrels smithed from Azielan steel could withstand firing blasts. Additionally, there were those who had claimed that a single shot could fell anything as large as a rhinoceros fel’n…yet the beast that had claimed Emil had already shrugged off the attack with cold fire.

Leon barely caught Tino pulling back the bolt and reloading another bullet in the alchemag, when heard saw the beast roar and charge at him. The earth shook with every step and nearly threw him off balance. He braced himself to jump away when a large spike of dark ice broke through the ground and pierced the beast upward.

The Shadow came and showered more spikes, faster and faster, hoping to destroy the outer form before it healed itself. Tino fired another round into its head, this time a shower of green sparks flying in the air in cackling electricity. Leon nearly retched at the combined smell of burning almonds and charred flesh. But it was all to no avail. With a sudden jerk, the creature twisted its tail and snapped at the base of the spike. The ice still in its belly, it charged forth, aimlessly in blind rage and fear.

When the Shadow and margrave prepared for another attack, an explosion of white light burst from the red beast, sending everyone and everything flying again, Leon feeling the wind knock out of him. He struck the ground, barely grateful he had not impaled himself again. Tino, far as he was, went sailing away off the wall and disappearing from sight. The Shadow was less fortunate—he must have hit his head against the wall because his body lay limp on the earth along the stone perimeter. There was no stopping the beast now.

“Emil,” Leon desperately called to red one, “you told me to prove my promise to you, so here I am. I haven’t forgotten the times we shared or my feelings for you, so please, let’s go home. We can return to the castle together.”

If the one called The Everlasting had heard his pleas, Leon was not made known to it. Instead, it charged at him and opened its gaping maw of a mouth, revealing a stringy cavern of uncovered muscles and pink fangs. In reflex, Leon held up his arm to defend himself and felt the crushing bite of the creature sinking its teeth into him. Something loud snapped and cracked, and Leon knew that his arm was broken. He screamed more in fright than betrayal. This was not Emil. Emil would never hurt him like this. He was not himself. He needed to be brought back.

He tried to take the ring from his finger and place it somewhere on the creature’s massive body, but he could not get free. Its flesh may have been stripped from enduring multiple attacks, so much that it had shrunk down to the size of an elephant, but that made it no less dangerous. The beast had taken hold of his right arm, and he was certain the entirety of it was going to be chewed off and swallowed whole. If he had to be engulfed to retrieve the ring and bring Emil back to his senses, then Leon had resolved to do so. With his left hand, he pried and pushed at the monster’s snout, succeeding only in burning his palm and melting his skin. He could hardly see. Sweat and heat had rendered him blind. He could not breathe. The smoke and blood filled his lungs, and he could not take in air anymore. He was lost. His heart still beat, if only barely, and it longed to save the prince, but the rest of his body could go no further.

For the first time, the darkness was not frightening. He welcomed it, as it was warm. Gone were the fears of cold floors and reaching hands, the needles boring into his veins, and the pungent taste of rotten meat. _If I’m to go, then perhaps I’ll go by your end_ , Leon thought, fully embracing Emil and letting the fire burn him through.

The heat raged, hotter and hotter until it burned cold. Leon could feel his flesh melting and merging with Emil’s. He sank within the beast, falling forward and to the ground, wet and expended. His mind freed itself of fear and hatred. He knew peace again. His body did not ache anymore. His eyes did not sting. Even where the iron rod had ran through him did not feel present. So this was what it was like to die: a surge of pain followed by an exhilarating sense of calm. He welcomed death’s arms, wherever they might take him, and waited for nothingness to swallow him.

That nothingness never truly came, or if it did, it was not long enough. He felt an explosion, his vision giving way to a piercing light. The beast roared, releasing its hold on his arm and letting his limb drop like a wet stone. Leon wiped his eyes, and peered through the heat and vapor. The Sun King was standing before him when he came to his senses, his wild hair recognizable in all the madness. He was wielding something, a weapon…an axe? Leon had never seen such a sheen before. Though it had buried itself halfway into the fell monster’s skull, it gave off the most impressive ruby light, as though the steel it had been forged from was cast with pure gemstone.

Just then, the king stole a moment to shout at him. “Run, kid!” Leon somehow gathered enough of his senses to rise. He felt movement in his legs, even if by instinct, and he bolted away from the beast. Still, against all better judgement, he felt compelled to look back. He had heard tales travel from his caravan, messages flown to his village, and around the dark corridors that he had resided in. Among the leaders of the western armies, there were two men that had cut through the Altorienese ranks and had even slaughtered their most skilled generals. The Red Storm, they had called them, one with the eyes of a demon and one wielding an axe that brought forth a sea of blood.

It was this storm that came crashing down on the beast. With strength unhinged and unshackled, the one known as the Sun King pulled his axe free from the monster’s skull. Leon could see the weapon in full view: it glistened with plasma and blood, but one only needed to take one look and know that it had been forged with magic. It was Azielan steel. Mathias lifted it up high and brought it back like a spring-loaded lever, firing away swing after swing after swing with seemingly no effort or exhaustion.

Blood showered from the beast’s raw hide in a crimson canvas, painting grass and stone in molten iron, fat, and flesh. In its stupefied desperation, the beast clawed at the king, but the king was quicker. He leapt back, his feet light, despite wielding the heavy weapon, and directed his momentum back at his target. He hacked at the empty spaces where its eyes should have been, blinding what vision it might have contained in its hollow sockets. He split its skull down the middle in a crunching cleave, its head coming apart though the white flames licked at its wounds.

“Die, damn you!” Mathias roared, all semblance of benevolence and regality vanished. “Give ‘im back!” Leon saw his eyes. His sky-blue irises reflected the red haze of the beast’s steaming blood. It was as though he had joined in the madness. His expression was primal, barely human. Even when he slipped, even when he had slowed enough to be clawed by the monster, he never lost his focus. His right shoulder bore a gaping wound. Leon could see his pink bone peering out from the ripped socket. The claw had ripped through his shoulder down to his stomach, something dark red and fleshy protruding from his abdomen.

He should have died, Leon thought. No physiological part of him should have been able to continue, but the Sun King held his axe tightly in his torn hand, as though an extension of his body. He stepped forward, readying himself for another blow, but he suddenly froze. Blind though it was, the beast began to charge, only it was not headed in the king’s direction, but rather towards him—

_“Lukas, now!”_ the king shrieked. A deafening shatter blew out Leon’s eardrums as a tall pillar of ice shot out of the ground and pierced the beast’s belly, suspending it into the air. It flailed and cried, writhing its decaying body until its tender flesh began to melt and slide down the dark ice. As it drew nearer to the ground, it started to lash out, nearly catching Leon on the head. With an ear-splitting yell, the king ran at the beast with his axe arched back for a full swing. He let out an unearthly roar as he lifted his axe on high, and Leon saw a collection of dark purple crystals gathering on the magic-forged blade. _The Shadow’s ice…_

The ice grew on the Sun King’s axe until it formed a magnificent black crescent. From afar, Leon made out the Shadow weakly raising his hand towards his brother and husband to complete the spell. Then, with a shudder, he collapsed cold on the floor. With a final cry, Mathias lunged himself with all of his strength at the beast’s neck and sank his blade, hilt and all into the tendons and bone, cutting away at its head with a sickening rip. It was done. Leon saw the decapitated body squirming with white flames oozing out like blood, trying to regenerate itself, but it was mindless and blind, helpless.

“Emil…?” Leon breathed as he saw the fallen head with a gaping mouth and empty eye sockets. It should have rotted away. Died. Disappeared. Yet by some ungodly magic, it let out the most terrifying rattle and stretched its jaws open. Somehow it leapt. Damn it all, it _leapt_.

Leon did not even have time to react. It came at him and slammed its jaws and teeth down on his head. Its teeth were as hot as before. Leon screamed and kicked, but he could not budge under its weight. Its teeth fore into his skull. He heard another crunch. His head wanted to explode. He was wet, searing. He could not move. He could not breathe. The stench of iron and rot overpowered him, oozed onto him. He could not see, could not think. He could only wish for it to stop. Stop. Still. He was tired. So so tired. It was done, was it not? He was done. Emil was done. He no longer knew if he was closing his eyes or opening them. Everything was dark once more. He released a sigh. A calm washed over him. He stopped moving, time with it. His thoughts came to a standstill. He wanted to sleep. Should he wake, would this all be over? He did not remember his last thoughts.

It was quiet when he came to. He opened his eyes. Clarity. His vision no longer stung, sweat did not coat his skin, his arm was still intact, his sealed wound gone and healed. He took a breath and found that his lungs did not catch fire. He looked around, confused. It was nightfall, but even then, he could see the stars, the Northstar shining brightest of them all. There were no red clouds, no pillars of smoke, no screaming or dying people. It was like waking from a nightmare.

Leon almost rose to search the darkness when he felt a hand holding onto him. His heart leaping, he moved his hand down its wrist to its arm and felt for a soft head of hair. Its tufts were tangled and messy as one’s hair could have only been untamed. He checked for a sign of life and heard the deep rhythm of the one who was fast asleep. A belt of laughter echoed from Leon’s body. He laughed until he could not breathe, until his stomach hurt and cried for food. He laughed again and hugged Emil.

“It’s done…” Lukas loomed over the two of them. His breath was short, but he bore no visible injuries. His left hand was shaking. He looked sick and pale. Leon saw his husband fly to him and hold his shoulders just as he heaved onto the tungrass. He coughed and collapsed into the king’s arms, gasping for air.

“It’s over, Lukas,” Mathias choked back a whisper. “You did it. I’m here. Easy, I’m here…” His shoulder was unscathed, his chest and abdomen free of wounds or tears. There were no blood or organs spilling anywhere out from his person.

Leon brought the unconscious Emil to his lap. “I…Your Majesties, what now?”

It was then that the rulers looked at him and their fallen prince. The king craned his head at the stars above. From a distance, he heard musicians playing and sailors laughing. Gulls of the night squawked off in the distance. Children giggled and chased each other atop the wall. All was as it had been. “Nothing—for the moment. The worst of it is over. We need to get him back to his room. He’s gonna be out for a while, and I think Ice’ll want you at his side.” He pointed to the ring still rested upon Leon’s finger. “Better give that back to him. Make sure he doesn’t take it off again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Leon obeyed and removed the ring. For a brief second, he feared he, too, might transform into a monster, but nothing ever came of it. He placed the ring back onto his master’s finger and brushed some of his bangs back. He had not quite accepted that Emil was truly back.

Lukas, having recovered some, stood and removed his cape and covered his brother. In his relief, Leon had never noticed that the prince had been unclothed. “We’re going to need to clean up here. Go. Get Emil to his bed. Mathias and I—” He coughed and brought his hand to his mouth, fearing he would throw up again. His husband soothed him with a gentle rub of his back and spoke comforting words to him.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he cooed. “I’m here, Lukas. You’re good.” He looked to Leon. “Sorry, I know this is gonna take some time to process. We’ll tell ya everything once we’re settled. Lukas, you alright?”

“M’ fine, Mathias,” his husband murmured after swallowing. He looked undeniably terrible. He could barely hold himself together when he stared Leon’s way. “It seems my brother’s taken a liking to you.” He let out a shaky sigh. The trauma had not vanished as their injuries had, it seemed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter if you know or not. You’re just a pet, after all. Still, I can’t believe…” He tiredly shook his head and leaned on his husband for support. “Get going, would you? Let’s be off, Mathias. They’re going to wonder where we disappeared off to. I need to talk to you. Tino, too.”

 _“Just a pet,”_ Leon recited the discarded words in his thoughts. So be it. If Emil would still have him, then none of that mattered. He leaned his master against his back, his soft breath tickling his neck, and started off. The Sun King and Shadow headed in the opposite direction back outside the wall, most likely to the docks.

He felt refreshed, a lighter spring to his step. Though the horrific memories lingered, the youthful energy he had felt long ago came back to him. He walked with a bounce across the tungrass, through the comfort of the stone walls, and up and to the prince’s bedroom without any fatigue whatsoever. He flipped the covers and set Emil down, watching his pale chest rise and fall.

“Welcome home, Emil,” he whispered, though he knew his words would fall deaf on his master’s ears. He moved over him. A strange scent filled his nostrils, one of mother’s milk or baby’s skin. It was like he had been reborn. In a way, Leon felt reborn, too. His mind did wander to thoughts of the red cloud, the transformation, the ring, and the aftermath—or lack thereof. He looked at his body in the body-length mirror in his master’s chambers. His trousers and doublet were unscathed, his palms unbloodied, and his abdomen untouched and unburned. A miracle, he thought. But his attention turned to focus on the slumbering prince. It was him who he needed to worry more about. So it was true. The stories he had heard were true, after all. And that meant…

“Oh Emil,” he breathed, and brushed a finger across the prince’s forehead. “What’re we going to do with you now?” He expected no answer, seeing that his dear master had gone into a deep sleep.

Emil had once read a story to him of a princess who had been cursed to sleep for all eternity. “Only a true love’s kiss could awaken her,” his master had read aloud to him, “and many princes across the land had tried to brave the trials before her castle-prison to claim her. Fiery moats, terrifying vipers, lashing thorns, and an endless labyrinth were trials to the prize. Countless warriors, adventurers, and princes alike had fallen victim to the castle’s curse.

“Then, one day, a daring beastmaster happened upon the land where the castle stood. He had picked up stories of a beautiful princess that slept in a wondrous castle full of riches and wanted to see if he could brave the challenges, despite the multitudinous warnings given to him.

“He went to a great eagle’s cave, first giving it meat and sharing with it tales of the castle. The great eagle had heard the story from humans before and thought nothing of it, but when the beastmaster said there was also a slumbering female great eagle the princess kept as a pet there, the great eagle was more than happy to cooperate.

“And so, the great eagle and the beastmaster flew across all of the traps to the very top of the highest tower where the princess lay sleeping. He saw before him the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, so knelt by her bedside and gave her a kiss. When she awoke, the castle’s curse lifted, and sun shone on the kingdom once more.

“But when the princess offered her hand to the beastmaster in marriage, he surprisingly refused. How then, might you ask, was he able to wake her if it was not a true love’s kiss? Well, it was the beastmaster’s love for adventure that had awoken her, proving that love did not have to be dedicated to the _person_ he kissed. He left the great eagle to the princess and went off to find more adventure, and while the princess had no gallant prince and the great eagle no female counterpart to come by, the two instead became an excellent pair of ruler-warriors. And that was how the banner and kingdom of the Bluerzi Gardens came to be—you know it now to be one of the ruling powers of Thursaunia. It’s Roderich Edelstein’s—the Teacup King’s—land.”

 _Do I love you enough to wake you with a kiss, Emil?_ Leon wondered if he did, but he remembered his place and position, tender and tempting though the prince’s lips looked to him. He did not know if that story was true or not, but he knew that when Emil would eventually awake, he would not leave off so abruptly. His home was where Emil’s heart was.

Sighing, he leaned against his master’s bedside and closed his eyes. Sleep, however, would not come to him though his mind was exhausted and aching of the garish memories. That had not been a dream, had it? It was as though nothing had happened, the docks still standing, the people nonchalant. He wondered if anyone had died.

And why, then, did _he_ remember the nightmare—if it truly had been one? He looked to his master for answers and found none. No matter. The rulers had said he would get his explanation soon enough. He yawned and fell to his own cot, rolling in the covers and making himself comfortable. He wished Emil was awake to read him a story. He missed his voice. Since taking charge of Crodinia’s affairs, he had not had the time to read bedtimes stories to him.

 _I could always try one out, myself_ , he realized. He propped himself up against some pillows and pulled a book from his master’s shelf. _Tales of the Serpent’s Voyage_. He remembered how excited his master had been when he had found the book during the Red Summer. _A man cursed to wander the seas as a sea serpent until he learns to express true courage and charity._

Leon’s heart stirred. Knowing what he did now, he wondered if Emil had some personal connections to the protagonist of this book. He opened it to the first chapter and, to his pleasant surprise, found that he could read most of the words. Those he did not understand, he went to a dictionary he fetched and leafed through passages until all context was laid bare. He continued on into the night, patiently filling the time before his beloved slumbering prince awoke.


	15. His Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon learns the truth of Emil's nature and burden.

The king and his husband came to Emil’s chambers in the morning and sat themselves on the opposite side of Leon, across the prince’s bed. Emil was still soundly sleeping in the same rhythmic poise as last night, when his human body and peace had been returned to him. Leon had not left the room since entering the night prior; The Shadow observed as much to his brother’s pet aloud. “You need to take breaks. Eat something. Relieve yourself. If you starve or get an infection, my brother will be upset. He’ll blame himself. You’re his pet: he worries about you just as much as he cares for you. Or have you forgotten in that recklessness you’d call bravery?”

Leon excused himself to use the privy after that. When returning, the Sun King had already ordered for breakfast to be brought into the prince’s chamber: eggs, bread, smoked meats, fruit jam, steamed roots, and cider. The three ate as Emil slept, an uncomfortable silence ringing in the air. Mathias only broke the vocal peace once to ask his husband if he wanted some jam with his bread. After their meal was finished and the plates and silverware cleared, the king locked the door and spoke first.

“Emil’s this thing called The Everlasting—”

“Not a _thing_ ,” Lukas seethed at him in familiar fashion, “he’s a god—or rather, the vessel of one.” Leon thought as much when he had heard him trail off yesterday. “I know the Altorienese do not worship The Nine Divine as we do in western Eliatha, so I’ll tell you that there are, as is in their name, nine of them: The Ar—”

“Arcane, Bountiful, Fair, Valiant, Venturous, Wrought, Ornate, Everlasting, and Ruined,” Leon recited, the names and their qualities and blessings memorized from reading into the night. “My master told me of them yesterday, not long before he…turned.”

The Shadow narrowed his eyes. “Did he do anything different before he removed his ring?”

So the ring was special after all. “He took me to the temple to pray,” Leon replied.

The rulers exchanged looks. “Thousands of years ago,” the Shadow began, “with the defeat of eldritch dragons and colossi, The Nine Divine abandoned their beastly bodies and instead took on the forms of humans. They passed their blood and blessings down, and through the ages, their bestial forms were lost and their powers thinned into legend.

“The Everlasting, however, is a special case. Because it has the blessings of preservation and immortality, it failed to fully contain itself in mortal flesh. Rather, its existence has persevered in its full form through a human vessel. Those vessels have prevailed in the Steilsson bloodline for ages long past. In its coming, it skips generations also: last The Everlasting manifested, it showed up five generations ago. That said, while the blessing of The Everlasting flows in the vessel’s blood, it robs said vessel of any redeeming qualities that might have been given by the other Eight Divine.”

“It comes with another price,” the Sun King added in a low voice. “That thing you saw yesterday, it wasn’t the full Everlasting. It’s gotten worse an’ wilder each time it shows up. That’s why it looks so bloody rotten now. It makes the vessel weaker, too. Reason why Emil can’t swing a sword or use strong magic besides healing is because it’s tough work carryin’ a wild god inside o’ you.”

“I get it…” Leon looked to the gentle prince fully knowing the burden he was carrying now. “What about the ring? Why is that so important?”

“It holds a binding spell,” the Shadow said, “not for the god, but for the vessel. It keeps those of Steilsson blood meek and plain. That’s why you didn’t feel anything when you put it on—assuming you have any semblance of personality.” He studied Leon’s face. “I take it you disapprove of Emil’s suppression.”

“You’d do that to your own brother?” Bile rose to his throat. “I thought you loved him.”

“I do,” Emil’s brother insisted with a pained look, “and that is why he must wear the ring. If he sways too far in a different mental direction or brings into him a blessing of another god, The Everlasting goes berserk trying to protect its so-called ‘purity.’" The manner in which he spat out the word was no different than expectorating a bitter poison. "The ring suppresses all that. Yes, what you’ve known of my brother is not the bo—man he’s supposed to be, but it’s the best he _can_ be given his state.”

His stomach twisting into knots, Leon looked on at his master. Here was someone who had achieved what his old people had failed to accomplish, yet it now sounded like one of the loneliest existences he could think of. Emil had been stripped of his identity, his potential, his relations, his future. _Just like me. Only…_

“If he knew about all this, why did he remove his ring in the first place?”

Lukas blinked. He stole a look at his husband and then stared back at Leon. “I had…given you to my brother because I knew that as he grew older, he’d have to grow independent from his guards and mentors. You’re no stranger to it, however: you know he’s suffered terrible social isolation.” This was true, Leon knew. “He needs someone close to him when Mathias and I will no longer be there, someone to watch over him and deliver what others in a normal life could not. It couldn’t be another noble; there are far too many risks involved in that. It couldn’t be a knight or servant; that goes beyond what secrets we keep in our families.”

Leon saw the Shadow’s eyes gleam with sapphire light. “So, I thought, why not a pet? It’d have to be something capable of intelligence, and seeing as how Altorien recently lost a war, and their language was so far removed from our own Crodinia, it’d be perfect: someone with absolutely zero connections to the Steilssons’ past history, customs, and language. It’d fill all the roles of a companion and watcher for my brother.” He clicked his tongue. “But I was in error: I didn’t think Emil’d get so attached to an Altorienese given our personal history with them. Yet he taught you how to speak, how our kingdom works, and ultimately…well, you’ve seen it. You _remember_ it.”

A dry clogged lump formed in Leon’s throat. “I do.”

Lukas let out a long sigh and brushed his fair blonde bangs from his eye. Seeing as how his Crodinian Cross hairpin was always clipped to his left side, his hair often swept over his right eye in complete concealment. “I noticed the signs even before it came to this. My brother’s always been something of a reserved individual all his life, and I saw how happy he was to share it with you. Part of me already believed he might reveal his secret to you in time. I should have killed you or disposed of you like I did the others that day.” Leon’s blood ran cold. He still had not forgotten how easily his caravan had been frozen in dark ice. Knowing the extent of the Shadow’s powers, he would have surely perished if he had not been chosen by his beloved prince.

“But I didn’t. And I won’t,” the Shadow shrugged in eerie passive fashion. “Emil’d be heartbroken. Here you are, his one chance at friendship in adulthood, and I would have ruined that—” He looked down at his hands. “—like I seem to do everything else.

“He was genuinely happy, my dear little brother. He trusts you. Completely. Or he would not have decided to show his form to you so dramatically.” Lukas bit the inside of his cheek. “I wish he hadn’t placed so much faith in me. He was calculative in his revelation, I’ll give him that. He knew when we were coming back. He believed we would be enough to bring him back once he showed himself. That’s probably why he so readily wanted to show himself to you, so you would know the truth behind his suffering.”

Mathias grimaced. “Took everything we had this time. Was nice to go all out, but…don’t know what we would’ve done withoutcha, Lukas.”

“How did he change back?” Leon thought to ask.

“You kill The Everlasting over and over until it forgets itself and grows tired.” The Shadow sighed and leaned against the king for support. “It’s amazingly resilient even when it’s not complete.”

“Normal weapons and magic don’t even work,” the Sun King said. “Azielan steel barely phases it. To really hurt it, you need the powers of a god.” He wrapped a hand around his beloved’s waist. “Fortunately, Lukas here has the blood of The Ruined.”

Leon blinked. “Pardon?”

“I’m not a vessel as Emil is,” the Shadow clarified. “I’m a blood bearer. I carry in me the blood of one of The Nine Divine passed down in the Bondevik line. As far as I know, I’m the only one currently alive with Ruined blood. Tell me, boy, what _do_ you know of The Ruined?”

“Destruction begets creation,” he recited a phrase he had read in a text.

“That’s the short of it,” he with the blood of a god nodded after some thought and acknowledgement. “You can say that good things happen to those like me who bring things to ruin, and those like me are blessed with the powers of destruction.” Leon needed not telling twice after laying witness to what had happened last night. “It wasn’t originally intended, but I became my brother’s personal killer to his cursed form.” He studied his hands. They had since stilled from the night before. “I killed him so many times yesterday…I wonder if something fortunate might come from this.” The blithe manner in which he spoke sent a shiver down Leon’s spine.

“What _was_ that out there after my master returned?” Leon then asked. “Everything went back to normal. It was like nothing happened…But I still remember those events. _You_ still remember.”

“Congratulations, Leon,” Mathias grinned, “you’ve got blood of The Everlasting in ya.”

Leon stared, dumbfounded. “Do I?”

“It must have entered you at some point,” the Shadow deduced. “Do you remember it wounding you when you were close to it?”

Of course, Emil's brother had been incapacitated when it had chomped down on his arm. That must have been when it had happened. “It bit me,” Leon said. “Did some of its blood enter me?”

“That very well could have been it. For Mathias, it was a scratch, for me, a lash to my face.”

Leon saw no scars on the Shadow’s flawless features. “Are we all blood bearers of The Everlasting, then?”

“No,” the Shadow answered, “the little blood we have is just enough to let our memories persist as The Everlasting works its magic. To be a blood bearer, one needs to be born one. As for why things went back to normal after the god disappeared, it’s because The Everlasting can mend time as well as objects and wounds.”

Leon knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. “How’s that work?”

“Don’t know,” Mathias shrugged. “Stuff like that wasn’t recorded when The Everlasting was its old self. Easiest way to look at it is if you manage to calm it down, everything fixes itself: buildings, plants, injuries…even the dead.” He glumly stretched his lips together as if recalling his near-death incident. “That’s only when The Everlasting shows itself though. Dying when it’s not around won’t bring you back.”

“I see…” Leon thought of his abdominal wound, glad that he would not have to spend the remainder of his life worried about blood loss or infection. “And…how many of us know about this? It can’t be limited to just us…” 

“It isn’t,” said the Shadow, his expression unreadable. “We, three, are currently the only ones with shared blood from The Everlasting, meaning we will not forget the events of when it shows itself. But as for who knows of this, the Steilssons do, of course. The king and his eldest child of Crodinia always know. All high lords of the surrounding provinces know, too, though as it so happens, the duke of Surlith rules House Bondevik. Because House Kvaran of Staven withdrew its lordship to House Steilsson, there is one less family to worry about knowing. Then there are also the high lords from Vesnïn and Höthson.”

“From Houses Oxenstierna and Väinämöinen,” Leon said.

A smile crept upon Lukas’ lips. “Emil taught you a lot.”

“He’s a good teacher,” Leon bowed.

“The others know, too,” Mathias made a face, seeming to not favor that bit of knowledge.

Leon cocked his head. “By ‘others,’ you mean…?”

“Those whose families have blood bearers of the other Seven Divine in their veins,” said the Shadow, a clouded expression spread over his already vacant eyes. “You’ve been introduced to at least two of them, that much I know, but that isn’t important; what _is_ important is what happens next.” Leon waited for instructions, an explanation, or something to prepare himself for the fate of his master.

“Lukas,” Mathias spoke in an unfittingly cautious tone, “maybe we should wait until Emil wakes up. That’ll give you some more time to think about—”

“There’s nothing _left_ to think about,” the Shadow cut him off. “After what you saw, you know perfectly well what could happen if there’s a next time.” He looked blankly at Leon, peering into his eyes with prying vacancy that made him feel naked and exposed. He must have been using the spell of hearts because when he took his eyes off him, he said, “Emil will be fine with him. That he even chose to stay here even after all that is proof enough. His heart is clean.”

Clean, was he? Leon wondered if the Shadow had truly intruded into his soul and read the lot of it. If he had, he would have found something darker than those lifeless orbs he called eyes, but to Emil, he was as every bit devoted to him.

Suddenly, the Shadow rose and brought his husband to his feet. He beckoned for him to follow him out of the room, telling Leon to find them when Emil awoke. The two were alone once more.

Days passed, then weeks. Leon stayed by his master’s bedside, mainly leaving only to use the privy, bathe, or stretch his legs along the balcony. Servants came with meals and cleaned Emil’s body and sheets. Leon never minded the smells. The sensations he had endured in Altorien had dulled him to most unconventional slights. He had also noticed something after the first week of cleaning and meal rotations. _He doesn’t need to eat. He eats because he can, but he doesn’t need nourishment like a normal person._ He wondered if the servants had noticed, yet if they had, none of them had brought up any concern to Their Majesties. 

In the meantime, while Emil recovered from the nightmare, Leon often stole into the royal study and tore through scriptures and history books on The Nine Divine, reading up on the blessings, the teachings, even delving as far back as stories, myths, and retellings of The Dawning. Unlike what Their Majesties had disclosed to him, there were no traces of vessels or blood bearers existing in the records. It had been kept under tight guard within the families, after all—or perhaps there had been other ways to silence those who had wanted to speak out. Leon saw no reason to let anyone know of Emil’s condition, and he had a strong feeling the Crodinian rulers knew that, too.

When he believed he had gleaned all he could from the library’s religious literature, Leon busied himself by reading through the books stacked on his master’s shelves, first going through _Tales of The Serpent’s Voyage,_ moving onto _The Sparrowhorn_ , and coming now to _A Lone Arch_. As he read towards the end of his third novel, Leon noticed similar themes to these stories: all had protagonists who had been shunned for being different, yet by the end, they had all achieved companionship, recognition, and happiness.

 _Do you want the same thing, Emil?_ Leon wondered with a heavy heart. Alas, each of the three protagonists had gone on great journeys to find themselves. Emil, however, was confined to his castle like a captive prisoner, and while the grounds were large and extensive, he was bound by his frailty and accursed form, trapped like a caged bird having never tasted true freedom.

The night Leon finished _A Lone Arch_ , he made a vow to himself, to all the gods that were listening, and especially to The Everlasting. He knew himself now and his role in all of this. Like The Everlasting persisting through a new vessel, so, too, did his life begin anew. Gazing down at his beloved prince, he swore a duty to himself and to Emil. So long as his blood flowed through his veins and his heart continued to beat, he would continue to love him. He would damn himself if he must.

The very next morning, Emil opened his eyes.


	16. His Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil awakes and learns of Mathias and Lukas' plans for him.

“Three weeks,” came the reply, when he first asked how long he had been asleep. Then, the prince asked if he had seen and remembered his form. “Yes,” came the answer. That was how he knew Leon had in his veins the blood of The Everlasting.

Emil’s body felt heavy when rising. He had not used his legs for some time, his arms as well. His pet helped him up and propped him with some cushions that he might at least sit upright. He realized he was hungry and asked his pet to find someone to bring them food. In his quarters, they snacked on bread, pickled vegetables, smoked herring, fruit preserves, and warm cider.

“Your brother told me everything,” Leon said, when they finished. “He was the one who brought you back. Him and the Sun King. Margrave Tino, too, though I don’t think, like, he remembers what happened.” He had grown confident and adjusted since coming under his care, Emil noticed. No longer did he hide his face behind his shiny dark hair or speak in uncertain phrases. His pronunciation had drastically improved, his posture straight and poignant. His face looked brighter, too, more beautiful somehow. “He told me to get him and His Majesty when you woke up.”

“Wait,” Emil stopped him, holding out his right hand and catching the ring that had returned to his finger, “can we speak before they come? Alone?” He was glad that his pet consented, though he could not think of any reason why he would refuse. Leon made sure his door was locked and sat at his bedside, the morning light catching in his golden eyes. “I must have hurt you if you remember what happened. I apologize for any pain I’ve caused you.”

“You don’t have to,” Leon said. “That wasn’t you. That was The Everlasting.”

So he did know, Emil stirred at the thought. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No,” his pet shook his head. “If anything, it’s made me admire you even more.”

 _Even more?_ Emil did not think his pet had reason to admire him at all, yet he blushed a light pink. “You really kept your promise. I’m sorry. I may not remember what happened when I changed, but that you’re still here…” His heart fluttered. “When you told me you loved me…did you mean it?”

“I still do.”

His spirit leapt. He was unsure what to think of that. He wished to be happy of his acceptance by another. That was why he had taken his ring off at all. Though he had laid himself bare to a stranger turned companion, he had not been rejected or reviled. It all seemed too good to be true. He almost feared if he should feel such blessings, they would be taken away from him as soon as he had them. He did not speak. Instead, he held his pet’s hand, feeling its warmth of life, of the blood they now shared. There was a fuzziness to his touch, a shudder that ran through his finger and up his arm, sending his body into a light spasm. He longed for his contact, the security he only felt when he was with Leon.

“If it’s not too much to ask…” Emil hesitated. “Can you…?”

“Yes, Emil?”

He blushed. “Can you hold me as you did before?”

Leon crawled to him and held him, resting his head in his chest with arms wrapped around his neck. Emil closed his eyes and listened to his pet’s heartbeat, loud, drumming, and steady. Had he always been this sturdy and warm? He listened for his own pulse and found it lighter and faster as a bird’s. He was not afraid or excited, yet his heart swelled. He took in Leon’s scent and found it sharp and familiar. He wanted to taste it. Grabbing ahold of his tunic, he pried at the loose collar, searching for an opening in his garments. When he found skin, he kissed and sucked like a blind newborn. It was as every bit sharp as his smell and salty of perspiration. He bade Leon do the same to him, that he might know him more. He mewed when the nape of his neck tugged and disappeared between lips and teeth. He gasped as a bold hand slid into his garments and massaged his chest. A moan passed from him when Leon’s other hand moved from his waist and down to his thigh. He felt a burning sensation between his legs, and like a spark of flint ignited in his mind, he suddenly knew what they had done.

With a grunt, he removed his hands from Leon and gave him a shove. He felt breath and body fly from him, sailing backwards to the other end of his mattress. Panting, he summoned his white flames and vanished away his bites and red markings. He did the same to Leon. The irritation below had not subsided. “I’m sorry. I-I was carried away. I shouldn’t have done that. _You_ shouldn’t have done that.”

“I did what you asked me to,” came Leon’s reply.

Emil furiously blushed. “And if I asked you to jump from my window, would you do it?”

Leon thought on it for a few seconds before saying, “No, because if I died, you’d be sad, and that totally goes against what I’m here for.”

A groove folded between Emil’s brow, and he let out a sigh. “Sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve been awake. You’re right. I’ll be sad if you die. So don’t.”

Leon chuckled. “As you wish, Emil.”

The prince scrunched his lips and turned bashfully away, closing his legs together. He supposed he should excuse himself to go to the privy and relieve himself there. He smoothed his clothes out and tried to fix his hair. He instructed his pet to stay put while he stepped out and took off to the nearest private chambers.

It stung when the fluid passed from him. It did not help that he saw no opaque leavenings mixed in his trail. His blood throbbed hot and hard below. He cursed himself and the gods and wondered if he might have had the audacity to ask Leon to assist him next time.

 _Next time?_ His chest tightened. Nothing greater than a few kisses and touches had come of it, but what if they had gone further? He had heard of pets become pleasurable playthings before, and it was true Leon was his to use as he saw fit, but to do something like that? Had the madness of The Everlasting taken over him and lingered? He had just gotten to trust Leon as a friend. They were beyond the relationship of master and pet. He had even asked for them to speak as equals. _Is it only because I_ told _him to do it_ , he wondered?

His stomach ached. He had the strong urge to fill the void of his heart with food. He exited the privy and broke into a fast walk, strength returning to his fawn-like legs. Leon had said he loved him— _still_ loved him. Were he a dog or puffin that only knew how to unconditionally love, that was to have been expected. Yet he had been so happy and relieved to hear those words from Leon.

What was happening to him?

“I need food…” he grumpily mumbled. Yes. It was food he needed. He had gone through a transformation for the first time in years. It was only natural that his senses were not as sharp as they could be. He breezed down the stone halls and turned the corner to the stairwell when he collided with someone.

“Oompf—Ice! Yer up!”

Emil was dizzy. “Mathias…?”

The king was bright-eyed as ever. He looked down at his brother-in-law with an expression befitting of jubilance. “Hey, the cook told me food got sent to yer room, an’ I figured that had to mean you finally woke up. How ya feelin’?”

“I…um…’m still hungry.” He lowered his voice and gaze in embarrassment.

“Still?” Emil felt a tug on his arm. “Then let’s getcha somethin’ t’ eat!”

“What? No, please, I don’t want to go out there…! Mathias, I’m going back to my room.” He pulled in the opposite direction, and while not succeeding in breaking free, he managed to make his brother-in-law stop. “I don’t think I can face everyone right now. Just, let me eat in my room for a while, please?”

Mathias blinked. “They don’t know what you did.”

“Yes, but I did it for such a reckless reason,” Emil gritted his teeth. “Aren’t you even mad at me?”

A hand ruffled his already messy hair. Only someone whose hair was messier could tangle his in such careless abandon. “Naw, I’m not mad. Ya had me worried. Whatever yer reason, I know you didn’t do it to wreck the kingdom.” He caught himself. “Whoops. That’s not something Father would say. Erm, don’t do that again? Please?”

Emil was grateful the king was so kind, and that his brother had married him. “I won’t, I promise. Did you maybe want to eat with me?”

The king’s eyes lit up, a sparkle of sunshine in his sky-blue eyes. “Sure. An’ that reminds me, Lukas an’ I needed ta talk to ya about some things now that yer awake.”

He had nearly forgotten after sleeping so long. “About how I ran the kingdom?”

“Uh, right. That.” Mathias did not look so sure. “Wanted ta say what a good job ya did, but we can talk specifics during…is it breakfast or brunch time right now?”

Emil had to smile. “You’re the king. It’s whatever you want it to be.”

Mathias had the cooks bring up a meal fit for one who was a king. There were roasted tomatoes, eggs made four different ways, berry cakes, buttered rolls, smoked meats, jellied fruits, creamed cheeses, and three types of ciders and ale to pass around. Lukas was the last to arrive, seating himself on the side closest to Emil’s window. Mathias sat next to him, with Leon seated in the corner by Emil’s pillow. Emil ate in his bed. He commented that he felt like they were children again, earning smiles from his brother and king. They felt like a complete family.

“Remember the time we turned Father’s bed into a fort-ship?” Mathias asked, plopping a cherry tomato in his mouth. “An’ we sailed the Blizzarding Seas an’ landed on the Otherlands?”

“And we found gold,” Emil laughed. The gold had been soap bars the boys had stolen from the bathhouse.

“They were the most pleasant-smelling gold bricks in all the land,” Lukas nodded, taking a polite bite of bread and butter. “And we ended up never going home.”

Mathias rested his chin on his hand. “Until Father saw three kids lost and tired and crying for bed because the Otherlands were too big an’ boring.” He spoke in his best booming voice, “Oh ho ho what fine bars of gold and diamonds! I should steal these treasures and leave these ruffians ashore!”

Emil chuckled. He put a slice of smoked salmon on his plate. “I think we asked to be kidnapped, and he threw us into jail cells.”

“Our beds,” Lukas recalled. He finished the last of his bread. He missed Vitus Køhler just as much as Emil did. He waited for the laughter to die down. “You’ve more memories of this place than of the Islands of Morstur, Emil.”

“I do,” he cautiously agreed, his smile fading.

“The council thought you did a splendid job holding yourself during the hearings.” The prince's brother picked up a glass of cider and sipped from it.

Emil’s lips twitched, trying to hide a smile. “Did they? I-It was more Tino who helped me and the advisors…”

“However,” the Shadow began and all heads turned his way, “I told you not to set fire to the castle down while we were gone. Yet you almost did.” He clenched his mug so tightly that it shattered into thirty pieces. Blood coated his hands. There were fragments of dark ice laced in the glass. Mathias yelped. Emil flinched. “Do you have _any_ idea what you could have done?!”

Mathias tried to calm him down. “Lukas—”

“Every time it comes, it loses more of itself, and I tell myself every time this might be the last, yet I do it anyway. I DO IT FOR _YOU!”_ The room was silent for a spell. Then, the storm came once more. “I was terrified, Emil! Last time, it had scales and feathers, but this time I couldn’t recognize anything, and I thought if I keep killing this thing, one day it will be gone for good, and someday when it’s gone, I might kill you, too!” There were tears pouring from his eyes. Mathias looked painfully at his husband’s broken expression as if he had been the one with glass on his hands. Lukas finally looked down and saw the blood. He cried not from his pain but for the ill fate that had cursed both of them. The stoic and strong front he had constructed all his life had finally crumbled in one fell emotional swoop. “I can’t keep doing this, Emil…I swore that I wouldn’t let you die, but if you force my hand and my duty calls, it may come to that. The Ruined would love that, don’t you see? I can’t do this anymore…I can’t…” He collapsed into Mathias’ arms, his voice lost.

The Sun King did not stall. “Emil, fix this, please.”

Pale as a sheet, he summoned a carpet of cold fire that reverted pieces to plates, fragments to mugs, and blood to skin. The wounds burned away from his brother’s hands, but he continued to weep. Tears would have fallen from Emil’s eyes, too, but he knew he did not have the right to cry.

Air hissing through his teeth, the Sun King realized he had to speak for both of them. “We’ve decided to send you back to the Islands of Morstur.”

Nausea hit Emil like a morning star. His head panged and his stomach rolled and twisted in spite of the god that lived in him. He wanted to faint. “Wh-Wh…?”

“We wanted to wait ‘til you at least woke up, so we could send ya off.” The Sun King was without a smile. “We already wrote to yer parents. They’ve prepared yer room. Pack what you need; the mages will shrink the rest for you—”

“Did you know?” Emil turned to Leon, his mind on the verge of breaking.

“I didn’t.” Leon looked every bit as shocked as his master. If Emil had known the spell of hearts, he was certain he would know his pet was telling the truth.

The Sun King was still holding his husband. “Ice, I know it’s not easy to hear, but we thought this was the safest thing. You’re gonna be on an island, yer father’ll be watchin’ ya...and hey, you like the quiet an’ there’s plenty o’ that there.” He clicked his tongue. “We’re not sayin’ ya can’t visit us. This isn’t goodbye. I—We—You hafta remember you’re a prince an’ I the king.

“A king’s duty is his people first, an’ if we’re bein’ honest, if Lukas wasn’t able to stop ya, _no one_ would’ve been able to.” He cradled his husband, who had stopped sniffling and buried his face in his arms, as if ashamed it had come to this. “I’m sorry, Ice. You’re my brother every bit as much as Lukas is my husband, but…please try to understand where we’re coming from.”

“No…” Emil’s voice was like a ghost to him; it was so soft and low. “I understand perfectly. It’s for Crodinia. I don’t want to make you two worry anymore.” He paused. “Before I go, can you tell me something? Is it the god you’re sending away or is it me?”

Mathias winced as if he had been struck. “Yer really gonna make me answer that, Ice?”

“You’re a king,” his voice rose to a growl. “That’s the one thing you _can_ answer.”

All his life, Mathias Køhler had gotten through turmoil and snags with sheer willpower and a grin. He had no tact; that he had left to his beloved, who rested powerless in his chest. He had no smiles or strength for the one he considered his brother. “I mean, the one who took off the ring was you, not The Everlasti—Ah shit—Emil!”

Porcelain and glass shattered haphazardly on the floor when Emil threw the covers from his legs. He broke himself free of his sheets, flung the door open, and ran. He ignored the calls of his name as he tore through the halls, slamming his bare feet down steps and pushing his way past servants, scholars, and nobles alike. He passed the kitchen where he and the old king had baked butter cakes, the bathhouse where he and the stableboys had played sea monsters, the courtyard where he had first received news of the Sunset War, the dungeons where he had chosen Leon.

He ran on and on, as far as his feet would carry him. Forever if they had to. Where they blistered, the divine god sealed his bubbled skin until they were fitting to burst again. And it did it again and again. And it did not stop.

He reached the edge of the cliffs out to the sea, where the valley behind him sloped into a bowl. The Green Maw was not far behind him. The _dracay_ was strong here, sending a chilling wind that seeped into his bones. Beyond the ocean’s breath was where he was going to be sent, where winds brought life and character to this kingdom, where the mountain of fire lay dormant and dragons were said to have burst from the molten earth. From below, the sea lapped at the sheer rocks. They roared like shredded paper and screamed as Emil did into the empty sky. He thought of jumping and being done with this curse, that his brother might not have to suffer as he did, and Mathias could continue running the kingdom safely throughout the rest of his lifetime. But it would not matter. The Everlasting would breathe life into his lungs as the water filled them; his broken bones would mend themselves; and his shattered skull would piece together with all of his memories and pain intact. The cycle would continue, around and around like the rolling waves, like the ring that lay mockingly on his finger to infinity.

* * *

Leon found the prince still watching the waves come and go. He sat down beside him. Twilight was almost upon them again. It was as before Emil had revealed his form to him. “Everyone’s looking for you. Your brother wouldn’t use a tracking spell to seek you out.”

Emil curtly laughed. “Of course it’d be you who found me. Do you have magic in your blood?”

His pet managed a smile. “Altorienese don’t have magic in their veins. I found you because I remembered this place. You brought me here when you told me how you regretted not being able to save that man.”

“The one from the joust…Do you think it’s fair that I should hold The Everlasting all to myself?”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Is there, like, a way to pass it or spread it to someone else while you’re the vessel?”

“No, I don’t think so. My ancestors must’ve tried. There had to have been loved ones who died in their absence, people they wanted to save, someone more worthy of holding the god…”

“Then, no, if it can’t be helped.”

Emil looked at his ring. “You heard Mathias in there, too, didn’t you? _I_ was the one who chose to take off the ring. I did it because I thought if I could show you what I was and came out stronger from that, I’d have one more person in my life I could open myself to.” He rubbed his fingers and hid them in his tunic sleeves. “I don’t know…You say you’re not afraid of me, and I’m glad for that, but now I find myself wondering if I should be regretting it more. That was so selfish of me!” He punched the ground, scattering a flurry of gnats in the air. A hopeless sigh escaped him. “I suppose if I’m going back to my old home, I’ll have to bring you along. There’s no place for you in the castle.”

“My home’s wherever you go, Emil,” said Leon. “I think I’ve, like, told you that before. I’d follow you, anyway.”

The prince could not help himself smiling, in spite of his sorrow. “Do you really love me that much?”

“I do.”

He stared long and distantly at him, almost as if looking through him. “Then I’m freeing you. If you say you’ll really stay with me, then you can come with me to the island, but don’t say I didn’t give you the chance to leave. That’s an Altorienese proverb, isn’t it? If you love someone, set them free?”

Leon looked to him. His eyes were two suns. “That’s not a joke? Like, you’re really setting me free?”

“Yes, yes,” he waved dismissively, “I, Emil Steilsson, son of Sveinn Steilsson, high lord-to-be of House Steilsson of the Islands of Morstur of the province of Staven of the Kingdom of Crodinia, am officially setting you free.”

Leon leapt on him and grabbed his face in his hands and kissed him wholly on the lips. He had moved so fast, Emil thought with a fright, but the fear died as he felt how warm he was and how beautiful he had become. He felt safe, and where he felt safe, he would go anywhere.

He let Leon take him to a place filled where stars and fiery lights shimmered amidst the twilight glow, of gentle touches and overlapping tongues. He heard the sweetest whispers and uttered the most profound of confessions, adding his clumsy moans and gasps to their song. He felt the wind kiss his chest as Leon did when he tore at his tunic and left him pale and exposed. In his stupor, he drunkenly guided him past his chest, down his torso, and below his pelvis. Leon knew what to do. He peeled away his trousers and grabbed his hard length. He stroked him with such finesse that he cried out in a sound he had never made before. He felt himself being pumped, kissed, and lapped in ways he never thought possible. He felt Leon take him in his mouth and move. His entirety was swallowed, and just briefly, he wondered if he was that modest or if Leon was that determined.

Leon went slow, slow but hard. Emil appreciated that. He let his mind wander and feel every sensation of himself being absorbed. He wanted to give himself away. With each thrust, the desire grew and grew until he was fit to burst. Leon must have felt it too, as when he thought he could not contain himself any longer, he buried himself inside of him and kissed his base. In a weak cry, Emil emptied himself, hearing deep gulps as Leon drank his seed. He blushed and hid his face, whimpering when he felt the cold again, his body expended. He curled his legs together and shielded himself, that he would not have to face anyone. Leon held him, anyway, his arms wrapping his shoulders and pressing his chest to his head. “Feel better now?”

Emil blushed a bright scarlet. “Earlier, in my room, did you know…?”

He heard a snicker. “I could smell it.” A pause came, then the realization. “That was your first time…”

“Of course it was my first time!” Emil wanted to hide from the world. “Do you think I go offering myself to just anyone who comes upon me?” He lowered his voice to a grumble. “Besides, no one’s made me feel the way I do except you.” 

“Wonderful,” he heard Leon chuckle. “That makes me feel special.”

Emil huffed. “Was your Crodinian always this fluent?”

“I did some reading while you were sleeping.”

“While I was sleeping…?” Emil flushed pink. “And you didn’t do anything to me, then?”

“You wound me, Your Highness. You think I’m that indecent?”

“I don’t know,” he scowled behind his hands. “From what you told me, I was sleeping for at least three weeks. Last time it was two. Any manner of advantage could have been taken of me.”

“You should take your ring off more often.” Leon meant it as a joke, but he instead received a largely disapproving glare from his former master. He immediately apologized.

Emil eventually regained his composure and dressed himself, fixing the tears that littered his clothes. He tried to straighten his hair, but like all other spells, even his flames would not tame his locks. When he stood, he found imbalance, possibly from the sloped valley, but another reason crossed his mind. Leon had to hold him steady as they walked until they reached more level ground. It was only when they neared the main castle that he thought to ask, “Didn’t you feel some sort of urge, too, Leon?”

“How do you mean?”

Perhaps his Crodinian was not as impressive as he believed, Emil thought. “You know,” he clarified with hot color pooling his cheeks, “excitement, heat, er, a sense of…wanting pleasure.”

“Oh. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I do,” Emil insisted almost irritably. “Why? You don’t find me desirable?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” his former pet was quick to say. “I don’t want you lowering yourself to me. You’re a prince, and I’m…I suppose I’m, like, a commoner now. I’d rather it be me making you feel good, not the other way around.”

Emil frowned, displeased with the answer. “What if I _wanted_ to make you feel good?”

“You do,” Leon smirked. “Seeing _you_ feel good makes me feel good.”

The prince mumbled under his breath, “Somehow, I don’t think that’s enough.”

It was nightfall when they arrived at the castle. Mathias saw him first, charging in full sprint with outspread arms that tackled him in a bone-crushing hug. “Ice!” He lifted Emil off his feet and spun him around like days of old. His strength was as prevalent as ever. “I’m sorry I said those things to you. I didn’t mean ‘em like that.”

“I’m fine,” Emil squeaked, his lungs ready to pop. “Please…Mathias…let me down…”

The king plopped him back on the gracious earth, and hugged him again. The air left his cavities. His eyes might have popped from his sockets. “Look, if ya really wanna stay, maybe we can work something out. I can talk to Lukas, an’ we can set you up somewhere not far from here. We can—”

“Mathias,” the prince raised a hand, begging for air, “it’s alright…I’m leaving. You’re absolutely right: it was my doing. I hurt people I cared about. This is the best solution.”

His brother-in-law was caught between bewilderment and disappointment. “You sure? You don’t maybe want to talk an’ see if there’s a different way?”

“I’m sure.” His mind was made up. “I’ll pack some things and get ready to leave. I’ll be out of here in the morning.”

“No,” a deep voice towered from above, and Emil heard the crunching sound of gravel breaking under someone’s weight. “Night’s better for travel. Sooner we leave, the less attention we’ll draw.”

“Berwald…” Emil breathed. “You’re here? Does that mean…?”

“I’m yer escort.” Berwald Oxenstierna was a veritable fortress. Towering above those residing in the capital and bearing a stern face of stone, he was fit to be dubbed a Lion of the North. His stoic expression mirrored his blunt speech, sparing prose and sarcastic wit of Crodinia’s urban nobles. Some said the reason he wore spectacles was to mask the hidden ability of his frosted blue eyes—supposedly, he was rumored to be able to freeze a man in place if he looked directly at him. Emil, fortunately knew this to be a myth, as those of Vesnïn often lacked magical potency.

“I’m also joining you,” a bubblier voice appeared from behind the count. Tino Väinämöinen popped from behind with a bashful wave. He had all but disappeared when Berwald stood in front of him.

“Tino, you, too…” So they would be taking the west roads to the kingdom’s edge. Only the most skilled and seasoned of sailors dared sail their ships from western Crodinia and across the sea. As was their name, the Blizzarding Seas were teaming with icebergs, deathly unpredictable winds, and vicious sea monsters. The safest passage to the Islands of Morstur was through Kvaran territory and sailing a direct line through the Blizzarding Isles and up to a break in the seas’ flurries. Though Berwald was stationed in his landlocked stronghold most days, he had sailed the Blizzarding Seas countless times. That Vesnïn’s own count was going with them made Emil feel reassured about a safe journey back home.

“By the way,” Emil spoke before he returned to his room, “this is Leon.” He gestured to the Altorienese following close behind him. “He’s going with me.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Count Oxenstierna,” Leon bowed. Berwald returned his greeting with a nod so slight, his head may not have moved at all.

“Leon, come,” Emil beckoned him. They returned to his room, the steps harder to climb. His feet felt like lead weights, growing heavier with each step to the chambers he had long slept in. He had been here just about more than a decade now. Merctun had been his home for the greater part of his life, and here, he had made many memories. He knew this was not goodbye. He had a feeling this would not be the last time he walked these stone walls and passed the royal banners, yet a sinking sorrow sat in his stomach and stung at his eyes.

 _I must be strong_ , he told himself. _I’ve no right to cry for what I’ve done._ Leon must have sensed his brittle constitution, for he offered him his hand, which Emil graciously took.

Lukas was waiting for him on his bedside, and while it pained Emil to find him there, he was not surprised. “Emil, little brother, I’m s—”

“You’ve done nothing to be sorry about. Don’t make this harder for yourself. It’d be better if you were mad at me. I deserve it.” He flinched when Lukas stared at him. He felt naked when his brother gave him such a look, as though using the spell of hearts on him, but they were brothers, and being such brothers, they needed no such magic to understand one another.

“Even if The Everlasting didn’t reside inside you, I would still love you, Emil.” Emil knew he would. “I can’t ever be mad at you. I’m mad at myself for not being stronger. I wish I was strong enough to protect you from the world, so you could see it.”

Emil broke and walked to him. He threw his arms over his brother and squeezed him. He gave everything into his hug. “You’ve given me the world a hundred times over, Lukas. Thank you.”

He lost track of time. They could have been there for seconds, minutes, hours. He knew only his brother. When they at last released each other, he looked at his brother, his dandelion hair, his sapphire eyes, and his cross-shaped hairpin that caught in the light and reminded him of his undying devotion to his duty and his king. He knew where his heart lay.

In silence, he took a single luggage, a dusty old thing he had used twice in his life prior, filled it with some clothes and trinkets, and packed it shut. To Leon he handed him a bag and watched him stuff it with his outfits. His other possessions would be packed and shrunk down into rootskins. When Emil and Leon readied to leave, Lukas was still there, a vacant expression cast on his face. Even after all this time, Emil could still not fully read him.

Then, before he could say anything, Lukas, the Shadow, he with blood of The Ruined, came at them, walking with such elegance that he could have glided across the floor. “You,” he spoke to Leon with a voice barely above a whisper, “take care of Emil in my stead. Protect him—or so the gods help me, I will hunt you down and make you regret it.”

“I promise, Your Majesty,” swore Leon, the free Altorienese who was not bound to royalty. He felt no fear now.

His oath sworn, Lukas looked at his brother a final time, yet for the first time in his life, Emil saw a sparkle he had never known. 

“Until next time, Emil.”

He parted ways with a smile. “Until next time, brother.”


	17. His Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey across western Crodinia begins. Emil and Leon's feelings become more apparent.

Time made itself scarce before Leon had a chance to process everything. One moment he was in the castle, the next whisked into a carriage. He peered outside of the cozy velvet walls to the prince, who was exchanging a final moment of words with his king. He did not know what they were saying, but he liked to think that they had reconciled in their parting moments. At last, Mathias gave Emil a pat on his shoulder and ruffled his hair one more time before letting him go. Emil bowed low and gracious. Then, he turned and took his leave.

Count Oxenstierna opened the door for Emil, his straw-blonde scruff of hair nearly grazing the top of the carriage. To that, Leon could only be grateful that their transportation was wide and built out of sturdy ferroak. It was also to be pulled by four steeds, rather than the traditional one he and his former master had been used to.

 _Former master._ How strange it was to know he was finally free. He had embraced it wholeheartedly when he and Emil had been at the Green Maw, yet it was still surreal to think that he was no longer bound by servitude or ownership. He was his own person for the first real time in his life. _Yet it’s like I’m still leashed by him…_

Emil stepped into the carriage and sat himself next to Leon, already leaning on his arm for support. He wore a sullen look. Leon could not blame him for any sort of glum expression that befell him tonight. It was more than deserved. He took his hand and stroked it with his thumb, feeling the ring that had been the cause of all this. _Don’t worry, Emil. I’ll free you, too. Somehow._

He truly had been just as surprised as his master at the time, when he had been told he was being sent back to the Islands of Morstur. The islands, he had partially read, consisted of a cluster of archipelagos formed from a volcano, a mountain of fire, that had erupted over the course of several millennia. There were myths also surrounding the islands, of dragons being born of fire during the ages before The Dawning had taken place. It was even said that great battles had taken place during the war against the colossi, and some of them had shattered the greater islands into smaller pieces, until only the main and largest island with the volcano was completely habitable now. Leon assumed this was where they were going.

As of now, the freed man wore his red ribbon in silent compliance. Emil had given it to him before they had left the castle, stating that while he was now free, it would be safer for him to travel under the guise of his pet. “You’re really alright with going with me, Leon?” he had asked with quivering lips. “The islands are cold and desolate. There won’t be anything there for you. The food is bland; the company's poor; the landscapes are lonely. You have every chance to leave before you choose to go on this journey with me. You can go anywhere.”

And to that, Leon had reminded him, “I’ll go wherever you go.”

Emil had kissed him, then. He had pulled him aside to an isolated stone column out of sight from prying eyes, that they might share a moment alone. His eyes had pooled with tears, but he did not cry. “Thank you,” he had whispered, and that had been reason enough for Leon to remain.

Besides, where would he go? Anyone he would have called family was gone. His home…He supposed he had never had a permanent one. Before knowing of Emil’s form, he would have lived peacefully and complacently with him to the end of his days. It would have been a simple life, talking with him and laughing with him as he passed into lordship. Then again, he supposed if Emil was destined to be the future high lord of Staven, then he would have eventually gone back to his old homeland, anyway. It would not have always been so lavish, being the prince’s pet.

But things were different now. Leon could not rest and eat and sleep the time away. There were things to learn, places to see, a curse to study…and, if possible, to break. He loved someone now. He would not abandon him. 

He felt the weight of him at present. Emil had closed his eyes and pressed his body against him. Leon thought to look out the window, but with dark shroud of night upon them, there was little to see outside to pass the time. He was tired, too, he realized. His expedition in searching for the prince earlier today had left him turning over every balcony and bookshelf Emil had taken him to. It was by some divine revelation that he had known where to find him at all, not that Leon would have given credit to the gods. Still, he was glad that he had been the one to find him. He was glad that he had managed to confess himself to Emil, and that they had gotten to share such a moment. A smile cracked at the corner of his lips reflecting back on it.

 _Are you happy, too, Emil?_ The prince would not give answer. His eyes had since closed when the carriage started solemnly off, a small team of soldiers riding alongside the carriage as escorts for the long road ahead.

Berwald and Tino made soft small talk in the night, since Emil was asleep. They chatted about the state of their houses, what sorts of foods they had recently tried, the conditions of the roads and the kingdom. All things that meant nothing to Leon. _He doesn’t remember_ , Leon recalled. Tino had no blood of The Everlasting within him. Even when he had been there offering long-ranged support from the wall, he shared no semblance of memory or even a story to his fellow count. Still, the king and the Shadow must have informed him of Emil’s transformation, or they would not be taking him so far across the kingdom. For someone not wholly tied to the prince, Leon was not sure if it was a blessing that he did not remember the red chaos of that night.

“You,” Leon suddenly heard a low voice say. He looked up and saw the count staring at him. Even though he knew he had no reason to fear him, a coldness ran through his blood. “Y’speak Crodinian?”

“I do,” he replied.

“Emil taught him a lot,” Tino said with a reassuring smile. “He’s bound to understand anything we tell him.”

The count continued to stare for a time before he spoke. His lips hardly moved when he did. “What I say, y’ do. No questions. No time fer stallin’.”

Leon did not think the roads as treacherous or prone to robberies as they had been in Altorien, but he had to remember there were foul things when they left the capital and pressed further west. Emil had taught him some of the words of the creatures that prowled the deep woods, though if his memory served him well, they should not have any trouble passing over to Kvaran territory in the Staven province.

“What you say, I do,” he understood.

“Good,” Count Oxenstierna hummed. He leaned back and crossed his legs. When he did so, his upper boot leaned over to the other end of the carriage. Tino, meanwhile, enjoyed a cushy seat with spacious legroom all to himself. He had plenty of room to make himself comfortable, even having a place for his alchemag. Leon would have liked to get a closer look at the weapon, but something about the count’s glassy blue eyes made him uneasy. He was certain that nothing escaped his gaze, and so, he thought to take a rest beside his dear prince.

The air was biting and chilly on the first morning. Emil had already awoken, cracking a warming stone to fill the space with a blanketing temperature. He wrested Leon awake and bid him look outside. They must have been outside of Markal, because there were farmlands stretching as far as the eye could see. Leon did not know what sort of crops were planted. There were rows upon rows of golden grass-like plants and sprouts of large green leaves protruding from the soil. Further still were gnarled trees with vines and twine stretched in stakes to keep the branches straight, and off in the distance, sheep dotted the pastures like cottonpuffs on tungrass.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been this far outside the capital,” Emil breathed. He looked to his travel escorts. “Are we still in Merctun?”

“The center of it,” Berwald answered. “Gonna come up to Staven tomorrow.”

Emil looked out again. “I see…Are we stopping anywhere for the nights?”

“Inns,” the count shortly answered. “Too dangerous for a group this big t’ camp.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Leon did not take Emil to be an outdoors-loving kind of person, anyway. His constitution seemed too frail for sleeping on the hard earth, even if he had an immortal god dwelling inside of him. He had known him enough to see that he preferred curling up by warm places, enjoying the smells of roasted pine, and getting lost in old books. Vessel or not, Emil would not be able to last more than three days on his own.

Tino was perhaps the most talkative of the bizarre company. He shared stories of his adventures in the eastern province, speaking of festivals and people he had met during his travels. Because he guarded the borders along The Frigids and the cold lands of Caliger, he had been prone to studying all sorts of personalities and cultures in his lifetime. “During the first warmth and summer light in Höthson, there is a truce that allowed the easterners to cross into Höthson territory,” the margrave explained. “We hold all sorts of festivals in my city. In exchange, we get to trade weapons and alloys.”

Emil gave a quizzical look at Tino’s curious weapon. “Is that how you came across an alchemag? I’ve never seen one so close before.” The margrave had apparently tucked it away until it was actually needed. If he had had it on his person during the Red Summer, neither he nor Leon had seen it until now.

“Would you like to hold it?” Tino beamed. He looked more than happy to share it. Berwald stole him a glance but said nothing.

“May I?” The prince gingerly held himself out and let the extent of the weapon be placed into his hands. No sooner did the margrave hand it to him did his arms fall to the ground.

“Careful,” the count grunted when he saw the prince barely recover.

Emil gave out a weak laugh of relief. “S-Sorry. It’s heavier than it looks.” He gave the barrel a good study. “This is Azielan steel, isn’t it? I can tell from the marbled swirls in the metal.”

Tino gave a chortle of pride. “The genuine article. We got to test it out during, er…” He shifted his eyes in Leon’s direction. “Well, anyway, it’s modeled after weapons from the east. Instead of normal gunpowder, we fitted them with magical ammunition.” Leon would have made a passing comment that he had seen the weapon being fired, but as Emil did not need to be told of what had happened and Tino did not remember, he stayed silent and listened to the two converse.

It would be Leon’s first time staying at a Crodinian inn—or any sort of inn, really. He had traveled on the roads with his caravan during the daylight to avoid unsuspecting bandits and fel’n prowlers. During his journey, inns were something either of a luxury or a walking death trap. He had heard stories of guests checking in for the night and never coming out, but the innkeeper would mysteriously be a little richer after the event. _Hope this isn’t the case here_ , he warily thought as he craned his head to the roof. It was of classic Crodinian build with roofs and awnings of overly complicated builds, possibly to keep the rains and snows off. The shingles overlapped in tight and orderly construction, and wooden pillars and columns were built outside the clay or plastered finish, with grains tight and resistant to the bitter winters of the northern kingdom. There were only a few guests that had arrived prior to their own merry crew, as Leon saw two horses and one skinny carriage, too unimpressive to belong to a noble, too unnecessary for someone belonging to the commonfolk. It must have been some sort of merchant, he decided.

“Stay in here,” Berwald said as he opened the door. “I’ll check us in. Tino, watch ‘im.”

“Right.” The margrave’s voice, while chipper during the ride, had grown serious and quiet. They were beyond the protection of the capital now. Some may have recognized the prince and his distinguishable white hair and violet eyes, but that posed its own set of problems. Here, he could be used for ransom, killed in retaliation against the king for any sort of reason, sold off to some far away land to a pleasure house. Leon would fight to his last breath before he would let that happen. He had seen his own share of the world’s cruel injustices. He would not let Emil be victim to them. He was the last innocence of his world. He would hold onto it.

As he, himself, stood on guard, Leon saw the prince picking at his ring. He now knew why it was that he always wore it, why he had always distanced himself from others and stayed in the confines of the castle. To offer some comfort, Leon held his hand out to him and gave his palm a squeeze. Emil smiled softly at him.

Some moments later, Berwald emerged from the inn with a stone-faced expression. Leon could not tell if he was relieved, cautious, furious, or neutral. He seemed to wear the same hard look wherever he went. And through it all, he looked like he was about to murder someone in cold blood.

“T’s clear,” he said. “Come in.”

Emil stepped out first, followed by Leon. Tino went last, not before wrapping his weapon in a thick cloth and slinging it over his shoulder. Smart, Leon thought. He did not know what anyone would think if they saw such a weapon being carried by such a large party. He wondered if anyone could recognize the three faces among the others. _Count Oxenstierna, Margrave Väinämöinen, and Prince Emil Steilsson, soon-to-be High Lord of Staven._ It was definitely a peculiar crowd.

The inn was thankfully warm and snug on the inside, the walls illuminated with glowstone and a small fire at the far end of the lobby. A team of tables and chairs littered the first floor, and a lone man sat at the far corner, strumming away at a stringed instrument. It was a traditional Crodinian tune, from what Leon could recognize from his time back at the castle.

“Follow me, then,” the innkeeper said when he saw the party arrive. He climbed up the stairs and led the group to the rooms at the far end of the hall. There were two lines of doors that mirrored one another, the only distinguishable quality about them was the symbol painted on each door. Leon recognized them to be some sort of old Crodinian rune. He had not studied those with his former master. The innkeeper unlocked two of the rooms and gave two keys to the count. “These two rooms are yours. Breakfast served at dawn.” He turned to leave when he looked up and stared eye to eye with Leon. _Here we go…_ “Got an Altorienese in your party?”

“A pet,” Berwald said, gesturing at the ribbon around Leon’s wrist.

The innkeeper shook his head. “Don’t matter to me. No ruffians allowed, no dogs, no cats, no Altorienese. Don’t want no trouble with the guests. Some o’ them are good veterans.”

Leon stole a look at his former master, whose eyes were distraught with the exchange. He opened his mouth so speak with Berwald, when the count cut in. “Don’t suppose you can make an exception?” he asked, looming over the innkeeper. He took out a purse and presented two gold suns to the man.

But the innkeeper was stubborn. “I don’t want your money. This is an honest inn. If you’re going to be like that, you’re welcome to look elsewhere.”

If the count sighed, Leon could scarcely hear it. Emil looked his way and passed through the rest of the guests, holding his hand. “I’ll take him outside,” he softly announced and took Leon away. Berwald told Tino to follow them, and so he went. They walked back down the stairs and out the main door, turning around the bend where the carriage had parked. “You can sleep in the carriage, Leon.” He reached in his pockets and took out two stones with white powder that smelled of old ashes and charcoal. “Here. Warming stones. I think you know how to use them.”

“Yep.” Leon gritted his teeth and took them. He popped open the carriage door and stepped back inside.

“I’m sorry, Leon,” the prince apologized. “I was afraid this was going to be a problem, but I didn’t think it’d start out so soon.”

“You kidding? It totally beats the ground,” he assured him. Besides, it was better than sleeping in the rain and trying to keep an eye and ear open for bandits. At least the carriage was roomy, warm, and dry.

“I’m sorry…” Emil apologized again. “I’ll bring you some food when we eat.”

Leon had to withhold himself from laughing. His consideration was far more than amicable. “Thank you, Em—Master.”

The prince turned to leave, Tino following wordlessly behind him. Leon sunk into the seat and curled himself up into a ball. Already, without the other three’s company, the space had grown cold. _And this is their summertime. What’s gonna happen when it becomes winter?_ He was grateful for the warming stones, at the very least. He took them out and struck them against each other. The slight smell of smoke filled the air, and the stones glowed red for a split second before the space around him became enveloped in a comforting heat. There was nothing to do except think or sleep, and so he pondered into the night to fill the time before food or sleep came to him—whichever would arrive first.

Food, as it turned out, would be the winner. Leon was recollecting his time in the royal studies when he heard something rapping on the carriage door. He lifted his head up and saw a white head of hair. It could only have belonged to one person. He opened it and watched as Emil stepped inside, carrying a steaming bowl of meat and potatoes. Leon peered behind him and saw the silhouette of a colossus steadfast just underneath the doorway of the inn. He could not blame the count for being cautious.

“Sorry for the wait, Leon,” Emil mustered a smile as he sat across from him. “Here. I got a little bit of everything.” He also took out a half of bread that was tucked into his robe.

Leon smiled and began helping himself to the mashed potatoes. “Thank you.”

The prince let out a sigh and sank himself into the velvet seat. Having already eaten, he thought to fill the time with conversation. “It’s lonely without you there.”

“Really?” Leon broke some bread and poured a spoonful of gravy over top of it. “I thought you would've liked the new company. You might have to see this a lot.” He gestured to himself as he sat eating. 

“I know,” Emil frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be. I’m used to it.” He swallowed his bread. It was not as buttery as he would have liked it, but he could not complain. “Besides, it’s not like I’m on the run from soldiers or eating bugs.” He ripped another bite of bread off with his teeth. “This is a _lot_ better than bugs.”

The prince weakly laughed. He turned his ring around his finger for a while until he found it in himself to speak again. “…Can you tell me what it was like when I changed?”

Leon stopped eating and set his spoon down. His bread was small enough to fit into his bowl. “You sure you want to hear it?”

“I should know,” Emil said, determined. “I need to know how destructive it was—how _I_ was.”

The former pet wiped his mouth with his wrist and drew in memories from that horrific night. The smells, sights, and sounds had not left his mind, even when he could see his prince well and rested with his ring placed neatly upon his finger. “What was the last thing you remembered? Let’s start there.”

Emil bit his lower lip. “I think I said that I wanted you to remember me. I meant that. It means so much now that you’re even here, even though I did what I did. It was selfish of me, but hearing you say those words…I was so happy. I still am.” He looked into Leon’s eyes, a gentle but sad expression pooling into his irises. Leon brought him closer and kissed him, never minding that the count might be able to see them. The prince, however, protested the suddenness and pulled back with a light gasp. “Leon, no…! Berwald could be watching!”

“I don’t care. And why should you? Does anyone say anything when a noble kisses their dog?”

“They don't say anything when it's not on the mouth!” Emil blushed red beneath the dark cloak of night. “Besides, you’re not my pet anymore…”

“No one else knows that.”

Emil snatched his hand. “Please, stop. I told you what I remembered; now tell me the rest.”

Leon exhaled. “It was…graphic. Your eyes were bleeding. Your throat split halfway down your chest and blood came out. You don’t remember _that?”_

“Er, no…” The prince gave a shudder. “Everything after that was red, then black.”

“Well, then…” Leon took a breath and recounted it all, the explosions, The Everlasting’s form, the Shadow’s power, Tino and Mathias’ efforts, his injury, the blackout and disappearance of the nightmare…Emil sat through all of it in complete silence, as if to absorb the events of all that he was capable of.

When he finally finished, Emil’s skin was as white as the color of his hair. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. “I’m sorry…I never knew it was like that…Back when I last transformed…” He swallowed. “I was ten when it happened, not long before the Sunset War was waged. I was playing with a group of children, boys and girls my age. Someone grabbed ahold of my hand and pulled my ring off. Even so, it wasn’t as devastating as what you’re describing to me now. Back then, they told me I couldn’t have been larger than a single horse pen. I was easy to subdue. Lukas was always so strong, I thought he’d be able to bring me down as easily as he had in the past…”

Leon stiffened. Only now did tears fall from his former master’s eyes. They dropped to his wringed hands in soft pitter patters, filling the carriage with his muffled sobbing. “I hurt him so much, Leon…I made him kill me so many times. I _made_ him! And those people…If he hadn’t stopped me…They would have…They would have…!” He collapsed into his hands, and Leon reached out to comfort him in his arms. He petted his hair and whispered soft words to him, trying to settled his nerves, but he knew it would be better for Emil to cry.

 _Weep if you have to_ , he thought. _Shed tears when I never got the chance._

When Emil’s eye did dry, he took a couple final breaths of shaking air and cast a wave of cold fire over his eyes. The puffiness disappeared, and it was as though he had never wept in the first place. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t say that,” Leon hushed him. “I already told you there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“Even if time was mended, I did those things to him…to you…to Mathias…everyone…”

“You did it to show me. Now I know, and I’m glad you did. It means you trust me…You do trust, me, right?”

“I do,” Emil nodded. “Even after all that, though, you don’t think I’m some kind of monster?"

Leon shrugged his shoulders. “Your kingdom’s texts say The Nine Divine were all once beasts, don’t they? But, like, your people still worship them. Who’s to say what’s a ‘monster’ and what’s not? I’ve met plenty of men who did things that could easily make themselves pass off as monsters.”

The prince did look better having heard that and having wept. He sniffed and rose. He sat himself next to Leon and leaned against his shoulder. “Did I do the right thing, Leon, revealing myself to you?”

“I don’t see why you would have done it if you didn’t think some part of it was right.” He watched Emil hold out his ringed hand, the dull metal glowing from the inn’s candlelight.

“I thought revealing myself to you would be like a simple test. If you feared me, I’d have let you go…If not…”

Leon chuckled and rubbed his dear prince’s arm. “You let me go, anyway. You freed me so I could love you.”

Emil blushed like a maid and hid himself in Leon’s chest. He stayed that way for a while, listening to his heartbeat and hearing his chest rise and fall. He rested against him until the heat of the warming stones died down, and only the temperatures of their bodies were known to one another. Leon almost thought he had gone to sleep when he heard a timid voice mumble from beneath his clothes. “Don’t leave me, Leon. Please?”

It was funny. It could only be funny. He had thought his own life disposable, insignificant, filthy. He had thought it naïve in the beginning, that a prince could act so weakly and remain so sheltered and faint of heart. But like him, he was a product of his being, of _what_ he was. Emil, too, had suffered for it, but he had not come out broken as he had, smoldered down, shattered, molded, and fitted into something unrecognizable, a pathetic imitation of his old self. He was not tainted. Leon wanted to protect that. He would save him from that. Yet a prince and godly vessel would ask for him to remain at his side. Emil needed him, and he needed Emil. They coexisted solely for one another. He would not have it any other way.

"I’ll never leave you, Emil.” He cradled him in his arms and threatened not to let go. He felt something wet against his chest as Emil hugged him tighter. With a gentle sigh, he stroked his hair while he listened to him weep some more.

He did not know how long they had been huddled together when he heard the sound of someone knocking. Leon was startled awake first, bumping his hand into the bowl Emil had brought. It must have been Oxenstierna. Stifling a yawn, he opened the door just as Emil stirred awake.

“It’s late,” came a deep grunt. Even when he wore spectacles, it was clear that the count was growing impatient. “Emil, it’s time for bed.”

“Hmm?” Emil rubbed his eyes and inched closer to the open door. “Berwald, I want to stay here."

“No,” came the obvious refusal. “Too dangerous.”

“Could we not try bringing Leon inside?”

“Already tried that.” Two gold suns should have been more than reasonably enough to convince the innkeeper to let an Altorienese have room and board.

Emil eyed Leon’s body up and down. His eyes had since cleared from crying. “Could we maybe turn him into a bird and sneak him in? He didn’t say anything about not having birds inside his inn.”

The count raised what could only have been a bemused eyebrow on his stony face. He barely moved any facial muscles, but even Leon could tell he was considering Emil’s proposal. “D’ya know how to use a transmogrification spell?”

“Er, no…” the prince sheepishly confessed, “but if I did—”

“If ya can’t, then drop it. Yer comin’ inside with me. Don’t want t’ write to your brother tellin’ 'im something happened t’ you.”

Emil knew that his escort could not be moved. With a heavy heart, he collected Leon’s emptied bowl and bid him goodnight, but not before giving him a kiss on the cheek. Leon saw Berwald avert his gaze and let out an audible sigh for the first time during their journey. “Will he be safe out here, Berwald?”

“I’ll send a rotation t' watch fer ‘im,” said the count.

“Thank you,” the prince slightly smiled. “Goodnight, Leon.”

“G’night, Your Highness,” Leon smirked, flopping down on the velvet seating. “We’ll be together in spirit.” That warranted another graceful blush upon Emil’s cheeks, and again, Berwald averted his gaze from the youth. Leon watched the two of them retreat into the inn, and he was alone once more. He was done thinking for the day. It was time to sleep. He wondered if he would dream without the presence of his former master. He wished to him all the most pleasant dreams in the world.

* * *

“Farväd Køhler, the second son of Albin Køhler, traveled to Arbren, where he was introduced to bathhouses,” Emil explained when Leon had pointed out the Crodinians’ fondness for bathing. “There had been a plague that had ravaged the western part of Tabrini. During that time, The Everlasting did not deliver blessings, since there wasn’t a vessel alive. The plague was carried across the sea to Belethren and then to what we know today as Thursaunia. Just east of that would have been Dotriba and Arbren. Palleci and Ésbel were affected, but Bävmek and Arbren weren’t.

“This is because Bävmek knew about medicinal practices and sanitation. They sealed up their waterways and quarantined those who were sick. Those who were ill were given fluids and medicines from Altorien that contained strong healing properties. In Abren, similar sanitary practices were common: the streets were swept, rotting food was discarded property, they had an efficient sewer system, and they frequently bathed.

“Farväd took these observations back to Crodinia and informed his father that they should put the Bävmekan and Abrenian customs into practice, since southern Crodinia had been affected through trade. And it worked. What few instances of an outbreak we had died down, and the plague never fully took effect in our kingdom. Ever since then, masons, architects, and mages have worked together to build sewer systems, and funding was granted to erect bathhouses in central towns and cities all over Crodinia. Because of his efforts, Albin recognized his son’s potential and gave the title of king to him. He was known as the Marbled King.”

When Leon asked what “marbled” was, Emil explained it was a texture and hardness of swirled milky stone. He was later shown a piece of real marble at one of the stalls in a town, a lovely white rock polished into a sphere that reminded him faintly of old porcelain. “Pretty,” he said. “It’s like white jade.”

White jade was one of Altorien’s precious exports. The prince had only seen illustrations of sculpted jewelry carved in dainty white blossoms and fish, though the real sculptures must have been far more impressive. Should he ever wish to see one now, he might have to travel as far as Palleci.

“Did you bathe in Altorien, Leon?” Emil asked when they retired at an inn in eastern Staven. There was a bathhouse, which everyone was grateful for. There was no private bath, but the pair were free to converse with one another as the rest of the traveling posse drank ale and shared stories. Leon was glad that he could at last be with the prince somewhat alone for a change. “I remember you not knowing what to do during our first night together.”

“Yes and no?” Leon responded as if in a question. “We swam in rivers, and that was enough. Oils and soaps were saved for the wealthy or for special occasions. It was always pretty warm, too.”

Emil stared fondly on. “One of these days you can tell me about your life in Altorien. I don’t care if you think it’s pointless or painful; I want to hear it.”

“Do you? There’s nothing good about my past.”

“You might say that,” the prince acknowledged, “but knowing about the past is how we build a better future—or that’s something Mathias would say, I think.”

Leon laughed, a short breath that sounded like the scoff Lukas used around his husband. “Your king’s strange. Strange but kind.” He offered to wash Emil, but the prince refused with a flush of color. That disappointed him. He wished they were truly alone. He wanted to taste him again and hear his cries. He wanted to know him again.

Ever since they had departed, there had been virtually no privacy. Coupled with the ten rankmen Mathias had chosen to accompany the party, Tino and Berwald were always especially nearby, sometimes together or taking turns watching the young prince. Tino often went to sleep the same time everyone else did, but Berwald, the steadfast observer, always took watch either in a corner or against a wall. Leon had never seen him truly sleep. Once, he had caught the count resting his eyes, but he had been fully seated upright with his back straight as an arrow and his neck rigid. The image was more frightening than if he had been awake, Leon believed with a shudder. He irritably looked behind his shoulder now and saw—sure enough—Berwald the giant staring at them from afar.

“Like, what’s his deal?” Leon asked when they dried off. He noticed the precious prince often closing his legs together and looking way from him when he stripped. He was cute. It was frustrating that they could not be alone. “I know His Majesty said the count was supposed to be, like, your escort, but he’s _always_ looking at you. Don’t you find that creepy?”

“Berwald’s always been like that,” Emil defended with a pout on his lips. It made him look childish—more than usual. “He’s good at watching over people; that’s just how he protects them. It doesn’t look it, but he’s good with children once you get to know him.”

“Huh. Really?” Leon was flabbergasted. He had been intimidated stiff when he had first set eyes upon him. It was a marvel that children did not cry when they saw him. Even down to the way he spoke, the man was practically living proof that colossi once dominated the earth.

“He used to make carvings for me when I was small. He made whatever I asked for to make me feel better: birds, horses, dragons…When I first started living at the capital, he sometimes visited and took me in the woods to look for mushrooms and critters. And he taught me how to ride.”

“I didn’t know.”

“He’s kind, truly,” Emil insisted. “It takes some time for him to open up; it’s harder now that he’s the Count of Vesnïn. If it makes you feel any better, I know we’re safe with him.”

“If you say so.” Leon was less than thrilled with the prospects. He watched Emil dress in his sleeping garments and pick at his curled hair. His clean skin was bright and milky white, flawless and perfect for kissing. He felt they would have more time together once they arrived at the Islands of Morstur, but he wished they could have had some moments to spend during the journey. He wanted to take Emil’s mind off of his impending role, of being trapped on an isolated lonely block of ice in the middle of the sea. He did not want the roads to be so full of dull moments and passing scenery.

But he digressed. The Crodinian scenery held its own form of majestic beauty. His journey in Altorien had been through the cracks of wooden boards, peering through the gray rains, and squinting through ashes and smoke. He knew there were mountains, forests, and rivers in the old empire, but none of the sights had born any significance to him. Now, seeing the lush green mountains and evergreen forests with someone he loved made the moments special, however little they could enjoy them. Perhaps one day, they would be able to disappear into the forest and count the stars at night until they were too tired to continue. 

Tonight, however, they were to sleep in a large lodging room, fit for the entire party. The inn they had found held a long broad room with short wooden beds propped up against one another. The collective made one long mattress when stacked one by one. There were ten beds that could fit, meaning four rankmen were tasked with night’s watch. They would rotate out in intervals of two hours into the night, four others taking their place. During the last shift, the remaining two rankmen and Tino and Berwald would take over into the rising morning. As of late, it would have appeared that the nights were growing shorter, meaning less time to sleep.

“As we go further west, the days will grow longer into the summer,” said Emil as he fluffed his pillow. It smelled of goose feathers and straw. It was not as comfortable as the woolen stuffed pillows back at the castle, but the prince was dignified enough to never complain about his travel conditions. He made his head comfortable and pulled the covers over his shoulders. The others were slowly turning in, some staying up to polish their weapons, others reading or chatting with one another. Tino and Berwald were on the other side of Emil, planning out the rest of their route for the morrow. “You’re going to see almost full daylight in the islands. Can you imagine going to bed when the sun’s up high?”

Leon smirked. “That’s my dream, sleeping whenever I want during the day.”

Emil laughed. “Maybe you’ll like it there. Er, but when winter comes, it’s going to be eternally dark. We do get some sun, but it passes so quickly, it might as well not be there at all. You’re going to have to get used to drinking cod liver oil, Leon.”

He made a face. “What’s that?” If it was as unpleasant as it sounded, he wondered just how crucial it was to make that part of his regular winter diet.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like—” Emil sounded quite bookish in his response “—an oil made from the extract of cod liver. Crodinians of the farther north and west drink it as a supplement for what the sun lacks. You can get deathly ill if you don’t get enough sun, you know.”

Leon made a crude face as he lied down beside his beloved prince. “Maybe that’s why I was always picked on.”

He wished he had not made that remark. His former master gave him a look of concern. “Did you not see the sun very often growing up?”

“That’s…” Leon peered over his head and looked at the soldiers. They were all able-bodied, but not so young. If Emil’s own brother had been a veteran of the Sunset War, some of these men could have partaken in it as well. He had grown comfortable speaking Crodinian in their presence, but that was only because he was under the watch of the high count and margrave. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. Not tonight. We should get some rest.”

“Oh…” It was not hard to detect the prince’s disappointment. “Maybe another time, then.” It was a habit of his to still reach out and stroke Leon’s hair. He did so now with a loving motion that traced his bangs and grazed the edge of his jaw. “Goodnight, Leon.”

“Goodnight, Emil.”

* * *

It took a week and a half to reach Kvaran territory. Traveling by carriage was the slowest means of transportation; it would have been faster even on foot because feet did not have to be pushed and pulled out of the mud four wheels at a time. Leon had been made known to that during his old travels. The roads had been icy and wet with melting snow and late flurries from the last pre-summer frosts. Still, while the sun shone glaringly in the sky, temperatures grew colder the further west they went until reaching the bordering port-city that stood between the Blizzarding Sea.

“This is it,” Tino breathed, his legs kicking the air. He was staring outside at the cityscape of wood-shingled houses painted bright colors of reds, yellows, and whites. Some of those pigments could have only come from dyes and clays imported as far as Altorien or Arbren. They were officially in Nuravik, the westernmost portside city of the Crodinian mainland. Beyond the sea’s reaches lay the volcanic Islands of Morstur where Emil had been born. “We’re going to set sail with you hopefully by tomorrow if our ship’s been prepared. After you’re settled in, Berwald and I will set off for home.”

“You’re going back east together?” Emil asked him.

“Yup,” the margrave beamed. It was sometimes baffling to imagine he was in charge of defending The Frigids, but then, Leon had seen him easily wield an alchemag, which undoubtedly required a hefty supply of strength and accuracy to fire. “We were thinking of stopping by some places together and looking at a few summer festivals.”

Emil smiled. “That’ll make up for some of the Red Summer, I hope.” People of Höthson had a love for colorful events.

“Sure hope so!” Tino went on talking about said festivals, but Leon’s mind was elsewhere. He wondered if this city had its own amusing customs, seeing as how the streets were paved with cobblestones for once, and the houses looked recently upkept. Or maybe it was some kind of preservation spell, he thought, after watching how masons worked nowadays. In kingdoms such as Crodinia and Tabrinni, it was said that magic was integrated almost seamlessly into everyday life. Where Dotriba and Thursaunia used fire to light lamps, Crodinia had glowstone; where Arbren struggled with maintaining fruitful crops from the ever-present threat of the Sandsea, weather mages and botanists could imbue the soil and tend the climate with magic to ensure healthy harvests throughout the year. Altorien had had no use for such things, as most of their climates had been warm enough to provide food, but Leon could see the convenience in a place where the sun scarcely shone half of the year.

The prince ogled at every sight, taking in what he had not remembered when making this same journey as a child. “I must’ve come this way, too,” he said with airy breath. “I remember my brother buying me a small cake in a colorful village—or maybe it was a city. There weren’t settlements as vibrant as this one.”

“Maybe it was Nuravik where you had the cake,” Leon deduced aloud.

“Maybe…” Emil tore his eyes away and leaned onto his former pet. He looked to be done browsing the views. _He’s doing this to remember the places he’ll never go back to_ , Leon realized. If he was to be shipped off to his homeland, it was to have him stay there. There would be nothing to fret over, no one to go against him. The land would be essentially void of important structures, and what population had settled there would not be missed. He was going to a cage. Never mind that His Majesty had said he would be free to visit whenever he chose. He had a feeling he would not be welcomed, not after they remembered what they did.

 _“I wish I was strong enough to protect you from the world, so you could see it.”_ Those words had stuck with Leon. Lukas had truly given his precious brother the world, and he had squandered his generosity. He had offered him protection and strength from himself and the feral god that had run rampant. There may have been a time when the Shadow had been powerful enough to quell the flames of madness that the beast had brought, but no longer. Not even with the blood of a god was it possible to go against one who was immortal and timeless. It was as they had said: it was losing more of itself and growing stronger in the process. And that was why they were making this journey now.

Leon wished he could have stolen Emil away and taken them somewhere safe and alone. He would have remained his old master’s pet forever if he would have wanted it. It could have been just the two of them enjoying life’s simple pleasantries forever and onward. But he knew what Emil was now. He had been tasked with that knowledge and responsibility. He was free. So, he would do one noble thing in his pathetic shamble of a life and uphold himself to his place in this world. This was for what he had been made—and how.

At reaching their destination, they exited the carriage and let the coachmen take their luggage into the inn. Fortunately, there were no pets in Kvaran territory, so as long as Leon kept a low profile, he would be free to enjoy the inn as the rest of its guests. They waited as Berwald obtained their rooms and passed the time by browsing the main lobby. There were two dogs belonging to a single man with furs slung over his person, a hunter or trapper perhaps. Leon smelled the aromas of spices and sweet eggy pastries, reminiscent of his old days in the Altorienese mainland. Were there custard tarts in such a place, he wondered? He almost thought to look around when Emil said something to him. “I smell Mother’s clothes,” he almost smiled. “I know what this is. It’s called fonder’s incense. It’s a magical vapor that gives you the smell of your fondest memories.”

“So it’s different to everyone?” Leon raised a brow.

“Right. I smell lavender and anise. A hint of flour and butter. My mother would bake for Lukas and me when I lived with her. I wonder if she still does…” Emil turned to him. “What do you smell?”

“Custard.” Funny. He would have thought his most fondest memories would have been those with Emil, but the incense would not lie to him, would it? Still, it was astounding how strong the power of smell could be. The moment he caught whiff of the sweet eggy aroma, he was instantly transported back to a world of lotus flowers, lacquer rooftops, red columns, and a background of pine trees and birds painted on paper walls. He thought he had discarded the memories, but then, he supposed he was not permitted to forget. They were, in a way, a few of the only unsullied memories he had before he had grown up.

Their party tired and weary from traveling the greater half of the kingdom, Count Oxenstierna allowed them to order some food before boarding up for the night. Some ordered the special meat pie while others ordered fish stew. Emil had a lighter supper of potatoes and breaded fish, Leon choosing to try some of the fish pie. He was pleasantly surprised to find his savory pastry even formed into a childish shape of a fish. When he poked it open with a fork, the insides steamed and oozed out, revealing a white gravy of cod, cream, and vegetables.

“That smells good,” the prince giggled, peering over him.

“You wanna try some?” Leon offered.

“May I?” Emil was modest in his request as always. Leon cut the pie in half and gave it to him. In exchange, the prince offered him two of his breaded cod. “Ith hoth!”

Leon smiled. He tried one of the breaded fish and found it light in breading and strong in fishy flavor. He poked at some of the potatoes on his plate and ate those, testing out the starchiness of the roots. The few roots he had come across in Altorien had a more sweet note, but those they ate in the west had earthy flavors, he had come to find. Emil had said something about potatoes being able to thrive in hard exhausted soil, which came plentifully about in icy territory. That must have been the reason for their abundance in Crodinian dishes. Nevertheless, they were buttered and delicious, so he ate them heartily. This and tomorrow’s breakfast would be their last meals before boarding the ship to Morstur. He would need to enjoy this as much as possible.

Off at the other end of their table, the rankmen chatted about weapon formations and their families, typical solider topics. Emil had learned their names and spoke with them on occasion, though they kept their distance, as they knew the purpose of their mission. Did he distance himself from everyone else because he knew he was going to become the high lord of Morstur? Or was it because he did not want them getting close to a cursed god? Leon pondered his questions as he finished the last of his pie. He sipped on ale that was lukewarm and laced with strong alcohol, stronger than inland if that was possible. Perhaps they needed stronger spirits for the colder weather. Despite the summer’s peak on near arrival, there were still snows to be found dotting mountaintops and dense forests. They brought with them a chill in the air that stung Leon’s throat whenever he would venture outside to stretch his legs or relieve himself. He wondered if there was going to be more snow on the Islands of Morstur, even with the main island being volcanic.

“Leon!” Emil suddenly called to him. When he looked up, the prince was on his feet, his plate cleared. He had a bright expression about him all of a sudden, the first for what must have been a moon.

“What is it?”

“Berwald said we can go into the city since, you know, it’s the last time we’re going to be here for a while. What do you say? Would you like to come with me?”

Leon smirked. “Does that even need to be a question?”

There was a catch, of course. The count, himself, would be chaperoning them as they browsed the streets. “Cover your face,” he required. “Someone might recognize y’.” Emil slung a hood over his head and fastened the collar with a brass pin. He checked his appearance in the mirror and hid his pale hands in thick gloves. Leon also had to don a hood, something he had not even possessed in his wardrobe. The one he was wearing belonged to Tino. It smelled of sweet cakes. He almost thought to find a small wrapped pastry in one of the pockets, but found them empty when he patted them down.

“We look like shamans or priests,” Emil commented when he stood side to side by Leon. He stared at Leon for a decent while until he finally rested his head atop his former pet’s.

“Something wrong?”

“Hold still.” The prince moved so close to him, Leon thought he wanted a kiss, but instead, he put a hand over top his own and pressed them against each other. “Berwald, what do you think?”

“Think?” the count echoed with a stare.

Emil turned Leon around and pressed his back against his. “Who looks taller: me or Leon?”

“Leon.”

“What? You’re sure?”

“He slouches. Might be why y’ never noticed.”

“Oh…I could have sworn we were the same height…” Emil clicked his tongue. “But I do remember you always bowing your head when I first got you, Leon.”

He bowed his head now. “Should I lower my head so you feel better about your height?”

“N-No,” the prince shook his head. “I don’t know why I even bothered checking…” He tugged at the rim of his cloak and stole Leon’s hand. Then, he led him outside to where the rest of his party had joined in a folksong. From the context, it sounded like a song about Dragonfall.

“Keep an eye on ‘em,” Berwald said to Tino as they headed out into the streets. The margrave gave him a smile and a wave before they disappeared.

Emil led the way. The sun was not supposed to touch the horizon for hours, leaving the sky in an eerie gradient of blues and oranges. Leon could hardly tell the difference between dusk and dawn. The markets were still open, and there were traders and merchants haggling at vendors as usual. Some open stalls sold bread and books, others potions, spices, and other oddities from all over the continent of Eliatha. Paved slopes took the trio up to an overlook of the rest of the portside city, giving way to a view of bridges and ships off in the distance. As the _dracay_ blew inland, a salty icy breeze brushed past Leon’s bangs, and was reminded of the day he and Emil had shared their first kiss.

“Ah, let’s go there,” Emil pointed out to a large bridge. “Berwald, is that alright?”

“S’fine. Don’t wander too far.”

Emil dragged Leon down the hill, their pace increasing with the descending slope. By the time they reached level ground, they were practically sprinting down the road, laughing as they alerted pedestrians to move out of the way. Leon turned to see the count tromping just briskly enough to stay behind them. His legs were built like trunks, and he exerted little effort with his long-reaching stride.

By the time they arrived at the bridge, a small vessel could be seen floating underneath. Emil held onto the brick railing and looked down, observing the egg-white pattern of the overhead canvas sails. “I wonder where it’s going…”

“Somewhere inland, looks like,” Leon supposed, as the river flowed back east. He watched Emil pick up a stray stone and hurl it far out into the river. It made a faint splash when it struck the water’s surface. “Something up, Emil?”

“You saw mines land. How far can you throw a stone?”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Are we having, like, a contest?”

“You can call it that,” Emil shyly smiled.

“I didn’t know princes threw stones, but alright.” He searched for a good-sized stone and chucked it as far as he dared. It landed visibly further than Emil’s splash. “Ha, all those sparring sessions I used to do finally paid off.”

Emil pouted. “That’s just because you’re you.”

“And so what if it is?” Leon leaned his elbows over the brick railing. “It’s not your fault you weren’t able to do, like, a lot of physical activities.”

“That wasn’t what I was getting at…” Emil’s gaze had grown distant, his voice matching its pace. “Uh, I…” He looked up and saw Berwald standing a good ten meters from them. It seemed like he was grateful for the distance, but to Leon, he clearly could have wished for more space. “Never mind. I can just tell you when we get there.”

So he did want to say something, Leon thought. “Hey,” he whispered. “Keep walking. When we find a crowd, let’s see if we can get away from the count.”

Emil’s eyes grew as large as marbles. “Are you mental?” he hissed as loud as he dared. “We can’t just run away! Berwald will…! Well, I’ve never actually seen Berwald upset before, but I don’t _want_ to see it.”

“Neither do I,” Leon snickered, “but don’t worry. Like, we’re not gonna _run away_ run away. I’ll remember the way back. We’ll just lose him for a little while, and if he doesn’t find us, then we’ll go back to him. How’s that sound?”

The prince looked defeated. “I can’t do that, Leon, not when I already caused everyone so much grief.”

“Well, I can.” He did not listen to any further protests. He grabbed onto Emil’s wrist and pulled him between two startled men and slipped away. If he heard a shout from the count, he did not pay it any heed. His feet flew. It had been so long since he had run with another behind him. That had been before it all.

Emil did a poor job of resisting. It could have been that he was only verbally refusing to go further out of obligation, but he still went along. If it was Leon, he would have punched, bitten, and scratched at his apprehender before he would be taken away. Not Emil. He did not have the spirit, strength, or knowledge to do so.

After winding through alleys and crossing street after street, Leon and Emil found themselves at a dead end hanging by edge of the sea from a gated overlook. There were benches and frost lilies planted in loose soil, surrounded by a row of glowstone lamps illuminating the semicircle. Ahead, the sea was alight with the fiery colors of vermillion, gold, and magenta. The stunning hot colors was a fitting contrast to the cold land that awaited them beyond. Leon could make out dark clouded flurries in the far distance. To the unknowing, they would have appeared as a rolling fog, but to the trained sailor and resident, it was known that out there lay the Blizzarding Seas, a cruel stretch of freezing waters where bitter blizzards raged on and icebergs lurked beneath black waves.

They rested their breaths on one of the benches, Emil sneaking spells of restoration with his god’s gift. The flames were unlike their appearance, instead cooling his sweat-coated skin and offering a glowing burst of energy. Leon felt he could run again if he wanted to. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Emil scolded him when he was done healing them both. “I may be able to convince Berwald to forgive you, but if he tells the others, they’ll be wary of you the rest of the way.”

“As long as they don’t lop off my head, I think I’ll be good,” Leon jested much to Emil’s exasperation. If what Emil had said bore any truth, the count would not be so heartless as to distress the prince any more than he needed to. “So,” he then said, spreading his hands out over the sea’s expanse, “what did you want to talk to me about?”

Emil blinked, caught by surprise at the question. He must have forgotten his words. “About what?”

Leon cocked his head. “At the bridge. You said something about me being me. Like, what didja mean by that?”

“That…” The prince sighed and leaned against his companion’s frame. “It’s sort of…How would I put it? You’re able to be yourself _because_ you can be yourself. Does that make any sense?”

“As in how you’re unable to receive the blessings from the other Eight Divine?”

“That’s not—” Emil struggled to find the words. “—I mean you had the freedom to be your own person, even if you were my pet for a time. I’ve always been fitted in this mold as a vessel. You know that now. The ring limits my abilities.” Leon knew that, and it was cruel and unfair. “You, know, I never thought too much of it. Do any of the Altorienese even receive blessings as we do?”

“Some had to have," Leon thought aloud. "Like I said, there were people who worshipped them. Whether they received blessings or not, I couldn’t know. Actually, how do I know if I’ve received blessings?”

“You get better advantages in life, I guess,” Emil muttered, seemingly unsure of the gods’ workings, himself. “People who are good with magic are thought to be blessed by The Arcane. Those with great strength and bravery are thought to be blessed by The Valiant—that’s Mathias’ favorite god.” Leon could see that. “Those who have good prospects in money or trade usually boast they are blessed by The Bountiful. Kind-hearted individuals are believed to be blessed by The Fair—”

“How is it that you aren’t blessed by The Fair, then? You’re, like, the kindest person I know.”

“Because…? Well, my mother I’d say is the kindest person I’ve known. She prays to The Fair the most, herself, but I feel that her kindness comes from an untainted place.”

“Untainted?” Leon repeated.

Emil wrung his hands uncomfortably together and pressed his lips into a thin tight line. “My kindness is a result of my weakness, because I don’t know any better. And part of it…” He chewed at the insides of his cheek. “If I say it, you’ll hate me.”

“That’s a strong word,” said Leon in a low voice. “I know what hate is. Whatever you say can’t bring me to hate you.”

“I…” Emil’s eyes fell to his hands. “I was kind because I wanted you to like me. I did it because I was selfish. I didn’t want you to be afraid of me. I wanted you to _love_ me.”

Leon blinked. “And what’s the problem of wanting your pet to love you?”

“You don’t understand, Leon—I _never_ saw you that way.” Emil breathed in a short shrill gasp. He looked shamefully away. “It could have been anyone. You weren’t any more special at the time, but it just happened to be you. You being my pet only made things easier. I wanted someone to love me, to know me without any bias, Leon.”

“You were lonely.” He knew exactly what that was like.

Emil’s silence was confirmation enough. He could not even look at him; his eyes were hidden beneath his hood. Leon held his hand, the undeniable warmth and life pulsing beneath translucent skin. “Back when I was kidnapped, when you found me, did you hug me out of false relief then?”

He felt a flinch from his former master. He squeezed his hand in reflex, possibly trying to ball them into an apprehensive fist. “I-I must have,” he sounded unsure of himself. “If I lost you, my chance at having someone who could love me would disappear, too.”

“My feelings were never false,” Leon said. He took his hand away and turned Emil’s eyes to him. No longer were his dark bangs covering his golden eyes as he had before, cowering away from the world and its cruelties. He had learned the world could be beautiful, too. “I _love_ you, Emil. You made me realize that emotion all on my own. No one has ever given me that, and no one has ever made me feel that—no one but you. You’re telling yourself it’s all fake, but what are you feeling right now?”

“How I…feel…?” Emil’s lips trembled. His face was as white as fresh snow, as if he had seen something horrible. “I-I’m afraid, Leon,” he confessed at last. “I love you, too. I love you so much, and that’s why I’m afraid. You’ve brought out things I, too, never thought I could feel. You can make me feel brave and smart and curious and kind.” He fought back the tears for as long as he could until he could not. “But if I feel too much, I could change again, Leon. Even with my ring on. It’s happened to others in the past. It could happen with me, as well.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I should have driven you away, but I was selfish. I wanted you here with me more than anything. I don’t know what to do…!”

Leon absorbed his words and sorrow with his lips. He could not offer anything else but his support. He took in Emil’s soft scent, a tinge of anise, the earthy smells of hay and goose feathers, a buttery sweetness of fresh milk. His thin tender lips trembled, nervous, excited.

When he felt he had calmed down some, he broke their kiss. Already, he felt the absence of their intimacy. He would have invited himself again, but he suddenly felt a cold shadow over them. The count had caught up to them.

Emil, caught in embarrassment, instinctively cast fire over his eyes. The swollen puffiness from his tears dissolved away, but his violet orbs still displayed a primal look of fear. “A-Ah…Berwald…”

“Found you,” the count said, unsmiling. It was impossible to tell what his underlying tone implied. “Told you not to wander too far.”

“I-I’m sorry,” the prince apologized. He met with Berwald’s eyes and saw that he was looking at Leon. “Did you see us, you know…?”

Count Oxenstierna did not reply immediately. Instead, he fixed his eyes onto Leon with his icy stare. Then, he asked, “Did y’ want me to?”

Emil blinked, unsure if he had heard him correctly. “What?”

“D’ya want me t’ pretend I didn’t see it?”

Finally, Emil understood what he meant. The fear dissolved from his eyes. “Oh. I don’t think I could ask you to…Um, could you at least keep it a secret, Berwald? I don’t know what Father would think if he knew.”

“I can do that,” he agreed to the prince’s relief.

“Thank you…” he breathed out a sigh. “What about you? Are you alright with Leon and me…?”

Leon watched Berwald take a hand as wide as a plate and place it ever so gently atop Emil’s head. He did not ruffle his hair as the king had, rather, he let it rest as he spoke to him in a collected and even tone. Leon’s heart stirred. “Yer young. Y’ never got the chance t’ explore yer feelings. You’ll know if ya think this is right, an’ if ya _do_ think it’s right, then that’s all that matters to me.”

Emil chewed his lower lip. “I want this to be right. More than anything. I love him, Berwald.”

The count let out a low sigh. “I see that.” He returned his gaze to Leon. When he saw him, Leon did not see the frigid stare that he had first seen him with. There was a melting warm beneath that icy layer of cold blue. “Be careful where you express yer feelings. It’s fine fer two men in Crodinia t’ do so, but it gets muddier in other kingdoms. Even messier ‘cause he’s Altorienese.”

“I know…” Emil’s voice was quiet.

“Ya want me t’ give you some more time together?”

“No, it’s alright,” Emil blushed, knowing they would not truly be alone now. “But, do you think we still look around Nuravik some more?”

“Depends. You two promise to stay close this time?” Berwald was eyeing Leon.

“I’m sorry,” Leon apologized. “I promise won’t do anything like that again.” _For the rest of this trip anyway_ , he thought to himself.

The count hummed. “I’ll give you another hour.”

Emil smiled. “Thank you, Berwald.”

* * *

Leon stole another look from his beloved as the rankmen loaded their belongings onto the ship. Emil was yawning again. This would be the fifth time.

Count Oxenstierna was at the base of the loading dock speaking with the captain, a seasoned-looking sailor with a modest sealskin cape and a buttoned coat of washed blue dyes, weathered from the salt and sea.

“I was wrong about Berwald,” Leon finally admitted.

Emil turned to him. “Hmm?”

“I thought he was going to be a total rockhead. The kind who doesn’t let you step out of line, y’know, doesn’t let you have fun.” He smirked. “But you were right. He’s actually, like, pretty nice.”

The prince smiled. “He is, isn’t he?” He yawned again. The sixth time.

“I didn’t know someone like you could get tired,” Leon jabbed after Emil finished smacking his lips.

“We did a lot yesterday,” the prince sleepily grumbled with a rub of his eyes. His hair was worse than ever, but he was wearing his hood again today, so there was trivial reason to have it upkept.

It was true, Leon thought, after Berwald had given them his permission, they had walked some more yesterday evening, hearing songs playing from the busy taverns, watching a fire show in the square, sampling pickled herring from a fisherman’s after seas vendor (which Leon spat out in secret), and looking out at the rows of colorful houses lining the coastal hills. Emil had participated in the activities with quiet earnest. He wanted to enjoy himself, but Leon knew now why he had always held himself back. It was cruel. He wanted a world where Emil would not have to be so reserved. He wanted him to be free.

For now, he gave the prince a playful nudge and held his hand. He was conscious of the ring on his finger. “I wasn’t getting at that,” he whispered with an amused mask. “ I mean, you’re, like, a god that can heal time and bring back the dead, and you get _tired._ Isn’t that, like, even just the littlest bit hilarious?” 

“Wha…?” Emil gave a small huff. Even in his annoyance, he was adorable. “Gods can get tired, too. You know, there was a period when the trickster, Limsekr, poured a sleeping draught into the gods’ drinking stream, and when they drank from it, they fell asleep for the first time. It became habit after that, because they found sleep a comforting way to clean your thoughts for the next day.

“Sure enough, when they awoke, their minds became sharp and refreshed. They got their revenge on the haughty dragon by cutting off his wings, and he became a cowardly serpent as a result.”

That made Leon spit out a laugh. “Your people have some funny stories for explaining why gods need to sleep.”

“As if Altorien had anything better,” Emil seethed under his breath to suppress his irritation.

Leon thought for a moment. “We have a story for why the moon has a rabbit.”

Emil looked at him as though his brain was a bag of rocks. “There’s no rabbit in the moon. It’s the ever-seeing eye of a colossi who was sealed into the heavens. When the day comes that the all-darkened shadow cloaks the sky and devours the heaven-bound colossi, that will be the day the world ends—or so some people in Surlith believe.”

“Mm, we can exchange stories when we set sail then,” Leon mused, seeing that the supplies were nearly loaded. He had not heard such stories growing up, so who was to say how the world would end? _When you are no longer in it with me, Emil,_ he decided as he looked at his beloved prince now.

A cold wind blew. Leon clutched his sealskin coat that Emil had purchased for him at the last minute. If they were going to be going through the Blizzarding Seas, they would need something to protect them from the cold and wetness, even down in the ship’s hull.

Berwald came to retrieve them not long after the supplies were finished packing. “I’ll show you to yer cabin. Yer not t’ leave your room unless I say so. These are close quarters, so no freely moving around. Yer room’s next t’ mine. Tino’ll be across from you.”

“Understood,” Emil nodded.

“Good. Follow me.”

Emil and Leon proceeded behind Count Oxenstierna. As they made their way to the loading plank, Emil silently squeezed Leon’s hand and looked up at the vessel that would take him back to the place he had been born.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Leon assured him. “I’m here, Emil.”

“…Thank you, Leon,” Emil smiled and added, “for everything—and I mean everything.”

“Any time,” he smiled in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the 1000+ hits! I understand the number is cumulative throughout the entire story, but for such a niche pairing and setting to have been given this many reads in such a relatively short amount of time is so flattering! ;v;
> 
> Anyway, I ended up rewriting this chapter just this week before posting. The mainland journey was always intended to be a single chapter, but I had condensed everything into 5000 words. I scrapped the whole thing and rewrote it to 11k+ words to have significant moments between Emil and Leon. I hope you enjoy them! 
> 
> Also big thank you to the people who leave comments! I don't always reply, but I'm always super grateful. I've put a lot of forethought into this plot, however the little moments and conversations woven in are always having to be refined and molded to let the actual story get to its logical progression. I get excited when I see people catching the details I've thrown in (but I won't say what)!


	18. His Caution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew continue their journey by sea. Leon divulges one thing or two about his past.

Perhaps gods had not been meant to sail the seas. If the ancient ones had made the seas and the colossi had built the mountains, then who was to say what laws beheld the brutal waves among the Blizzarding Seas? Captain Harlan had said the only god aboard ships was fortune—and not the kind that meant gold and jewels. Out in open sea where ice and salt clashed in merciless waters, luck was the only force that pulled _Ironclip_ westward. Windmasters were of no use out here where the tempest elements raged and ripped through sails, and the currents swashed the hull to and fro. When the timing was just right, the captain sailed forth, pushing just enough that they knew they were sailing west. Icebergs groaned and creaked with sheer mass, and the ferroak hull knocked the frigids with little give. It was true, Emil thought. Beyond the mainland where the gods had once driven the ancient ones into the sea, they were at fortune’s mercy.

Had the crew not had an apothecary aboard, Emil feared even the most hardy of sailors would have gotten seasick. It amazed him that he had somehow made the journey through these waters before—even more amazing still were people who had sailed beyond this sea and found the Otherlands. Fortunately, they were not going so far. The Islands of Morstur lay not two more days away if they remained on course. Mathias had assigned Captain Harlan to sail his brother-in-law home, and while the passage was by no means a vacationing cruise, no man had fallen overboard, and the ship was healthily intact. Two castobats had been brought aboard to change the gravity on _Ironclip,_ so that nothing would break loose or fall from the deck. When waves and wind turned the ship nearly sideways, the deckhands stuck firmly to the planks like ants on a log. If the ship could make it through the last of the Blizzarding Isles, the rest of the voyage would be much easier. Or so the captain had claimed.

Emil and Leon had spent the majority of their time at sea tucked away in their cabin, one floor below deck. As was in Crodinian fashion, _Ironclip_ was built shallow and slender, a long spiral of a sea serpent carved at the mast to appease the sea-dwelling monsters. The hull contained two low levels, more impressive than typical naval architecture in the kingdom. It was nowhere near as tall or grand as ships from Tabrinni or Belethren, but these kinds were fit to sail the icy seas and survive them. Emil disliked praying, but he found himself sending words to The Wrought, that the ship and crew hold themselves together, and The Ruined, that if something awful were to happen, good tidings would come shortly thereafter.

 _Are you praying for me, too, Lukas?_ Emil wondered. He let out a gasp as a sudden jolt sent him falling on his cot as he finished his prayer. Perhaps his brother had heard him in jest and responded.

“That was a sharp one,” Leon chuckled more miserably than amusingly. He had claimed he had been born on the island of Jiaqer, meaning he must have had to travel the ocean to reach the Altorien mainland. However, he was faring far worse than the prince. Though Emil often wrapped him with cold fire to soothe his nausea, he was never far from a pail in case his last meal were to come up. He never did throw up, though. He had Emil to thank for that. “Two more days, they said?” Leon laughed and coughed, his spit dribbling pathetically into the pail that was dry, otherwise. “The eastern ocean’s nicer than this. And warmer.” His stomach settling, he fell down on his cot, seemingly grateful that it was plush and thick as to not rock him back and forth as he rested.

Emil was nestled opposite from him with crates packed below his cot, supplies of some sort. He did not mind. Any necessary possessions were in his luggage, and the rest were safely stored away one more level below. He had tried to read by trackle light, but while his light remained stationary, _Ironclip’s_ hull swayed too much to keep his eyes steady. He had to intermittently stop every ten minutes and rest his eyes to keep from getting a headache, and by the second day at sea after breaking fast, he had given up his novel altogether.

“Well,” Emil sighed, “whittling, journaling, and now reading are out of the question. We’re having salted lamb tomorrow. That should make you feel better, shouldn’t it? You don’t like herring, after all…” Leon would have vocally agreed, but a sudden lurch made him roll his head. “Since it’s too dangerous to go above, maybe we can just talk in here. I’d like for us to get to know each other some more,” he proposed. “I know you were born in Jiaqer. What was it like?”

“I don’t remember,” Leon frowned at the ceiling. The glowstone lamp in the middle swayed on a tied rope. It was a better source of illumination than Emil’s trackle light, but he hated how it bobbed like the rest of the ship. “I was brought to the mainland when I was little more than a baby. I know because I remember only being able to crawl when I went on the boat. I screamed through the whole trip. That's the only memory I have of my birthplace.”

“Then, perhaps you could tell me where you were raised? I’ve told you about my childhood—maybe not the part about me being a vessel, but most of it.”

Leon’s gaze fell to an unassuming corner of their cabin. He tossed over on his side, facing away from the prince. “I don’t want you to know about that place or any place I came from before meeting you.”

His dismissing words stung. “I took my ring off for you…”

“You did,” Leon admitted. His hand clutched his cot. “But you did it to show me your true self. That part you showed me also made you whole in my eyes. Even you can’t deny that, can you?”

“No, I can’t…” Emil twisted his ring.

“What happened to me in Altorien changed me and broke me all down. I became nothing after they were done with me.” Leon’s lungs suddenly seized, and his eyes grew wide, as though he had seen something terrible or a nightmare had awoken.

“Leon…!” Emil went to him, but he would not have him near.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, suddenly reeling from his approach. He was clearly not.

Just then, a loud crash rattled down and outside in the hall. Something had fallen. Emil felt a jolt, and he and the rest of the cabin flew across the room, causing him to fly and slam into the wall. He yelped. He heard the sound of glass breaking. When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but blackness. Panicking, he searched the room and found it the same dark nothingness. _The glowstone…_ It must have bumped against the ceiling and shattered. He could not remember which way was up, but he remembered his birthday gift and summoned his trackle light. A soft blue glow illuminated the space, and he saw that he had somehow folded his body in on itself in the ship’s launch. If his neck had broken, the god within him made sure blood still coursed its way through his veins.

“Leon? Are you hurt?” The packing crates below were secure, but a few possessions and Leon had been shaken loose. The prince rubbed his head that had a hot bruise. The pain would subside in a second, but he still felt it nonetheless.

He found his cabinmate flopped limp in the corner. The bucket that he had been clutching had fallen over his head, coating his hair with his own spit. Emil grimaced and gave him a nudge, hoping to wrest him awake. “…Leon? Hey, is everything alright?”

When he found no answer, he feared the worst. He immediately cast cold fire over him in hopes that he could dispel any aches he might have sustained during that lurch. But Leon remained still. “Leon? This isn’t funny.” He shook his shoulder and brushed away the hair covering his face. From beyond Leon’s ebony bangs, he could see a single golden eye frozen in place, staring into nothingness. Emil’s heart stopped, and he quickly checked for a pulse. There was a throb. It was steady. Warm. He calmed a little, but why was he not moving?

“Leon,” he called again. “Hey. What’s wrong?” He knocked the bucket away with his wrist, grabbed the long end of his sleeve, and began to wipe away the saliva from his former pet’s hair. “Why aren’t you talking to me?”

He was working on the top of his head when suddenly Leon’s body began to shake with a spasm. Startled, he pulled away until he saw Leon blink. Then, he blinked again. After a third time, he came to, and lifted himself up from the corner. “Leon!” Emil breathed in relief. “What just happened? Do you know how much that scared me? Why weren’t you saying anything? Even after I used my fire…”

“Mm?” he groggily hummed and rubbed his head. He took his hand away and found it sticky and wet. He made a dark face that made Emil weary. “That was…”

A set of footsteps shot from beyond their room, and suddenly, the door to their cabin flew open. Berwald stood in the doorway. “Everything alright in here?”

“Just a little shaken up,” Emil managed to smile. “Um, the glowstone broke.” There was golden powder scattered everywhere on the planks. The ropes lay loose and empty from the ceiling like a stringed carcass.

“Can see that,” the count observed aloud. “I’ll find y' a new one.” Emil would have protested and said that he could fix the glowstone dust with his cold fire, but the count vanished before he could so much as open his mouth. Berwald was gone for a few minutes, and upon his return, he held in his hand a sack of glowing rocks. He filled the rope netting with fresh glowstone and observed the revitalized light in the pair’s cabin. “Call me if ya need anything else.”

“Thank you as always, Berwald,” Emil smiled, grateful for his willingness. He waited for his guardian to close the door before he looked to Leon. His former pet had still not moved from his spot. “Leon…? Hey, i-is something the matter?”

Leon pressed his lips together, as if trying to dam something from spilling from them. Then, “I…could tell you one thing, I suppose. About me.”

Emil blinked. “Yes?”

“You asked me about where I came from. I didn’t want you to know. But…” He reeled from the sickly sweet stench lingering in his hair. It was clear he found it upsetting, whether it be the smell or the very sensation of being dirty. “Like, you must’ve already seen it here and there…” he continued, and Emil listened. “I’m afraid of the dark. Nothing but bad things happened to me in the darkness. They thought it was better that I couldn’t see, but that made it worse. I didn’t know who did those things to me, but I remember all of the pain and the smells and the sounds…” His voice choked. Emil watched in horror as his body convulsed, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping open without a voice to escape.

In a flurry of breaths and flailing, Leon burst from his spot and seized his pail, emptying his stomach at last. A sour fetor of acid and half-digested cod and bread filled the air. Emil was too stunned to gag.

“Leon…?” He had uncovered something terrible. It was worse than what he had feared. This boy—no—he had not the innocence of one. This man was rotten and broken inside. What hurt the most was not what he had heard but that he had not seen any of his silent suffering. Had he failed to, or had he not cared to? Now, however, he desperately wanted to reach to him. He wanted to dig into his heart and head and rip out the writhing black tendrils around his soul. He wanted to fill him with nothing but light and love. For Leon, who had been his companion and friend, he could at least do that for him.

Yet, as he offered a hand to him, Leon pulled sharply away screaming. Emil tried to think of words to ease him, but before he could bring himself to say anything, he heard a stomp of boots outside. The door to their cabin flew open again. Berwald stood before them.

“I heard a scream,” Count Oxenstierna said. It was difficult to tell if he was scowling. He was looking at Leon who was still leaned over and reeling.

“Leon got sick,” Emil quickly explained.

Berwald’s eyes were hard like the ice that littered the Blizzarding Seas. He stepped out after telling them to wait, leaving the door wide open once more. Emil wished for their privacy, but he was slightly glad if only because they could air out some of the vaporous stomach acid. When he returned, the count was holding two bottles, one tall with blue glass, another wide with red. “Potions. Give’m a sip o’ the red one. Then let ‘im finish the blue one. Find me if he’s still sick.”

“Understood…Thank you, Berwald.” Emil took the bottles from him and waited for Leon to settle down. “But, he knows about me. Couldn’t I just use—?”

“Shouldn’t use cold fire on these waters,” the count darkly glowered, a stern and grim shadow cast over his face. He stared at the two with penetrating eyes. “How many times ‘ave ya used it?”

“F-Four...at least…” the prince shamefully answered.

“No more.” Berwald was final on that. “The gods don’t protect us out here.”

 _Even the one inside me?_ Emil wanted to ask, but he thought better of arguing. “I won’t do it again.”

“Hmm.” Without so much as a farewell, the count closed the door, his heavy footsteps fading in the roaring waves and groaning wood outside.

Leon had finished relieving his stomach by the time Emil handed him the red bottle. “Berwald said to take a sip of this, Leon. He means well by it. You’ll feel better.”

His companion ignored him, instead lying curled up in his cot, clutching his stomach. His eyes were concealed behind his ebony bangs that had grown long, slick, and sticky. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry.” He repeated his apology over and over again.

Emil feared he had broken. His lips trembled. He wanted to comfort Leon the same way he had done with him, but he was starting to realize there was more to him than he had thought. As a pet, his matters of attention only had to be his food, his temperament, and his obedience. Now, as a friend and someone more, he had come to learn that cultivating their relationship meant communication, trust, and support. Trying to do any of those things, to know the real Leon, was like opening a stubborn oyster. However, like an oyster, there was either going to be a pearl and something sweet and delicious…or something festering and black within. The prince feared it was the latter.

Leon’s face had gone pale, and his eyes were quivering with manic delirium. Emil thought to kiss him for comfort, but instead, Leon pulled him into an embrace, his breath sputtering in short bursts like a small animal’s. He was speaking Altorienese.

“Leon, you’re not well…” Emil’s voice trembled. He wished with all his heart that he had the power to soothe his mind, but if Leon would not listen, he could not reach him. At most, he could only hold him and let the foreign words fall on his ears. “The Everlasting may be able to heal wounds and the tears of time,” he said with a soothing voice, “but it and I can’t heal the mind. That needs to come with trust and love. I hope you’ll be able to do both for me. I want to help you, Leon. You’ve filled a hole in my heart that I couldn’t fill by myself. Please know…you’re not alone.”

His spirit lifted when Leon finally stopped babbling. He pulled away and looked at him. His golden eyes were cautious but pleading. He, too, had waited for someone to share his burden with. But even that weight was not so easily distributed. “Someday, Emil,” he at last gathered himself to speak, “when I think I’ve figured out myself, I’ll tell you everything. Just wait a little longer. I trust you. I'm just asking for some more time right now."

Emil had to concede. It was so well-spoken for an Altorienese that he felt obligated to give him his moment. “I’ll wait for as long as you need.”

Leon looked away with shame riddled on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said again. Emil felt a stab in his chest as though he was the one who felt guilty, but here and now, he had to be the one to offer forgiveness.

Taking the red bottle of potion, he took a sip of from it and held it in his mouth. He moved to Leon’s profile, forcing him to look his way. When he was able to see his lips, he kissed them and let the potion pass between. “Be sorry if you must,” he said after taking his mouth away, “but you need your strength. I won’t lose you.”

Leon swallowed. He was starting to look a little better.

A good time had passed before he fully calmed down. Emil did not know how long they had embraced, but after a while, Leon released him and fixed his hair. He excused himself and left the bunk, possibly to find the washroom. Emil would have gone with him, but he said he wanted to be alone. He almost feared he would not return after minutes had passed, when Leon came back, the stink of his acid and saliva gone and his eyes bright and clear again.

“I’m sorry for making a scene,” he sighed, his tone normal and lacking all his prior desperation. “Talking about that stuff brought up things I thought I shut away.” He wrinkled his nose. “The spit and vomit didn’t help. What I couldn’t see, I recognized from the smells. I remember those scents, as well.” He gave a snort, then a sniff, as if doing so would expel the smells from his memory.

Emil winced. “That was my fault. I pried, and I hurt you.” He swallowed. “Please, Leon, you may not want to hear this, but I’m glad you told me about your fear. I never saw it. I feel awful that I didn’t. The darkness scares me, too, but nowhere near to your degree...” He stroked his dark bangs, finding them like silk. “That said, I can’t help you on my own. Mathias’ father once told me to help someone they need to first help themselves. I freed you so you could make your own decisions without being tethered to some blind duty. You can choose to mend yourself, and I’ll try my best to help you. But whatever you do should be of your own peace and mind before any of that.”

Leon was silent for a time before he finally said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Emil.” He then turned his attention instead to the blue bottle he had not drunk from. Undoing the cork, he took a sniff and drank its contents half empty. “Kelderberry cider,” he smiled, bemused. “Not really a potion, but it’ll do.”

The prince was glad he was feeling somewhat better. Arms crossed, he fell on his cot. “How does it taste?”

“Sweet,” came the reply. “We never had this in Altorien. Actually, we never had cider, period.”

“I want some,” Emil suddenly said. He was not feeling nauseous as Leon had been, but the worry he had accumulated had tightened his nerves into knots within his stomach. He needed something refreshing to loosen them up. He expected Leon to hand him the bottle and let him drink from it, but instead, Leon took another gracious sip and approached him. His lips were met with a gracious kiss, as Leon performed the same gesture he had to him earlier. He let the sweet fizzy drink pass through his throat in prudent gulps, wishing now it had been a different kind of fluid.

Leon removed himself just enough that he could speak. His breath was sweet with the musty scent of kelderberry. “Now we’re even.”

“Even…?” he echoed. “If you really wanted us to be even…” His voice trailed off.

“Yes, Emil?”

“Forget it,” he muttered. “I already told you I’d give you time.”

His former pet looked at him with pained eyes. His lips parted with a slight dark gap between them, and Emil thought to kiss him again. Leon spoke, “Even if I wanted to tell you, I can’t. I’ve tried this before, Emil. Something about it doesn’t let me. It’s, like, something stuck. I don’t even know if it’s because I’m worried about frightening you or—” He suddenly lets out a short dry laugh. “No, I’m not the one who’s afraid of _that_. For something like that, I stopped being afraid a long time ago.”

Emil furrowed his brow and stroked his companion’s hair. “You don’t think telling me might make you feel better? If it’s any consolation, I do feel better that you know what I am now.”

Leon’s lips twitched. “It’s nothing like that. I can’t tell you. I _can’t_ , Emil.”

“Can’t?” he repeated. “Do you mean 'won’t?' Our grammar’s different in Crodinian, you know that.”

“I know I can’t,” Leon darkly looked away. His voiced was pent up with a growing frustration, not so much directed towards Emil. “I’ve tried, Emil. There were people I wanted to tell, and when they found out, I—” Suddenly, he seized again. Emil rose to him and stared helplessly as Leon clawed at his throat and fell to his side. He choked and gagged emptily, unable to speak or vomit, as the only thing in his stomach was the potion and the cider.

But this was different. Even Emil could see that there was something else in his wide golden eyes. It was not fear. It was suffering.

“Leon…!” He wanted to use cold fire, but Leon slapped his hands away, a piercing look from his eyes rendering him still. All he could do was watch on as he gasped for air and grabbed at the cot sheets before he calmed down again. By the time his writhing stopped, he had buried his face into his chest, his body shrunken down into a tight fetal curl.

“Sorry,” he wheezed. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” His breathing evened out with every apology. Finally, it stopped. The cabin’s only sounds were the same creaks and moans of the ship. As ever before, the storm outside raged on.

Though he was no longer his pet, Emil stroked Leon on his head. He hoped to offer some physical comfort as he had seen Mathias offer to Lukas in distressing times. He leaned his body over Leon and embraced him, shushing him with soft whispers and kissing his neck that was clawed red. Thankfully it was not bleeding, but the angry red streaks hurt Emil’s heart just as much as they did their wearer.

On and on Leon continued to apologize. Sorry, sorry, sorry. His breathing calmed down. His golden gaze was absolved of its initial mania.

Emil stopped.

Mania. Self-inflicted harm. A phrase repeated over and over. The coughing. The vomiting. All happening at a specific instance.

“Leon,” he gasped. “I think I know what’s wrong with you.”

He was not listening. Having calmed down, he began to find his courage again. He was kissing Emil back, drawing his scent from beneath his tunic and finding his nape. He sucked the soft skin at his neck and behind his ears, earning a shudder from the prince.

“L-Leon…” he moaned. “No. Stop. Listen, please.” He gently pushed him from his profile and forced him to look his way. “It’s a very small possibility; maybe I’m wrong about it, but I think you might be cursed.”

His beloved stared. “Pardon?”

“It’s called the speech of knots. It’s a powerful curse, an arcane spell I’ve read to only be mastered by druids of Tabrini. It was used to keep witnesses unable to speak of secrets to other people, even when undergoing the most brutal of torture and divulging spells. It hurts the user if they try to resist the curse. That could be why you’re in such pain.” Emil frowned, a pitying expression upon his lilac eyes. “It takes the original caster to undo such a spell—that or someone with unparalleled magic. Leon, do you know anyone who might have put a curse on you?”

He struggled to find a clue. It was written all over his face. “I don’t know. Even if I did, I don’t know if that person is still alive.” His body gave a shudder. “That was the only reason I was able to escape in the first place. The war put an end to all of that. I wish I could’ve gotten the chance to thank your brother-in-law.”

Emil stifled a cry. “Oh, Leon…” He cupped his face in his hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “If you really have that curse, and if not the original spellcaster, it would take someone with the blood of The Arcane to undo it. They’re _leagues_ away. And even then, I’m afraid—”

“It’s not important,” he dismissed, though he did not shy away from Emil’s affections. Leon kissed him as if to reassure him. “If it’s going to be that way, then like you said, you’ll just have to wait a little longer still.”

Helpless in his current position, Emil could only kiss him back. “I want to know you, Leon, the bad parts along with the good.” He made a sound as he felt Leon slip a hand below his waist. It crept along his thigh and massaged him over and over until he felt the blood between his legs swell. “A-Ah…Leon…?”

Leon grabbed ahold of his shoulders and pushed him gently upon his cot. His bangs fell over his face as he looked down at him, his golden eyes alight in stunning contrast. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but I don’t think you’d _want_ to know the bad parts,” he spoke with a voice dripping with lust. Emil’s shoulders gave a shudder. “Do you think you’re strong enough yet?” 

“Yes,” but Emil could hear his heart lying. He was not on his own. However a part of him believed Leon would give him the strength to endure whatever he would throw at him. His heartbeat fluttered in his eardrums. His body, hot as it was, craved the warmth of another. “I’m strong enough for you.” He let out a soft yip when he felt a hand move to his trousers and slip them off his waist.

“Not yet,” Leon refused, massaging his thighs. He persisted until he felt the prince stiffen in spite of his mental and verbal protests.

Emil’s legs squirmed; his face pinkened. He tried to reach Leon’s waist and practice him, but the Altorienese’s hands were stronger. His wrists were parted and pinned to the cot, and his legs reflexively opened. “Why not…?” By the time his hands were freed, Leon was already upon him. He suckled at his member, tenderly drawing forth his heat. Emil tried moving away, but he would not give. He was frozen to the mattress, lost in a sea of swimming stars and wet kisses. His body gave a shudder as he passed himself into Leon, gasping when he heard him hungrily swallow. How must he taste, he wondered, if Leon should always prefer this way of pleasuring him?

Leon swallowed once more and licked his lips. “It doesn’t feel right when you’re not ready, Emil.”

Emil sat up, though his thighs hurt. “I don’t care. I _am_ ready. I want you, too.” He did not know why he felt as he did, but he was on the verge of tears. “Why won’t you let me have you? I-I could learn to be good,” he desperately offered. “If I can’t be strong, I could at least know how to comfort you. If it would take away some of the pain, I’ll do it.”

His spirits fell when he saw the pitying expression on his beloved’s face. Why was he the one looking sorry for him? “You don’t need to worry about me, Emil. I’ll be strong enough for the both of us.”

_No_ , he irritably thought. _You know you can’t be. You’re selfish, Leon. What sort of person would I be if I let you shoulder both our burdens on your own?_ He could not tell Leon his thoughts, as before he could form them into words, they were swallowed with a kiss. Emil felt Leon’s tongue graze his lips. He parted them, so he could let him explore. He tried to taste traces of himself, but the ripe taste of kelderberry cider overpowered all else.

When Leon broke away, he thought to ask, “How do I taste?”

“Mm, like kelderberry,” Leon said to Emil’s disappointment. It was true, though; he did have some when they had shared a kiss.

“No,” the prince blushed, “I meant how…do _I_ taste?”

“Oh.” Leon went to him and sat on his cot. He lied down when his former master beckoned him to. “Salty, sweet, a little fishy. It’s thinner than some.”

“Thinn-er?” So it was as he had thought. He was not the first Leon had pleasured. Perhaps, he wondered, that had been part of the past he had not wished to divulge.

“Ah, you caught me.” Leon’s tone was disturbingly lighthearted for someone who had broken down not minutes before. “Are you alright with that, Emil?”

“…That I’m not the first you’ve tasted?” He saw a pang of guilt flash on the Altorienese’s face. “I-I don’t think I see issue with it. It can’t have been possible for you to know how to…” He felt blood creep to his face. “…make me feel as I do without knowing how to do it prior.” He was almost afraid to ask the next part. “Were there many before me?”

Leon struggled to give answer. He stared into Emil’s eyes, but he was not looking at him. His mind had gone somewhere into his past, and if it was anything to go by his earlier fit, it was one filled with darkness. “You're my last and only, Emil. I’m happy for that. You’re the only one I’ve done it _for_. I want it only to be you.”

Emil kissed him once more, wondering if some of his flavor still lingered on his lips. He still tasted just the kelderberry cider. He was fine with those words—proud, even. He did not know why he should care of the preferences of an Altorienese commoner, but it thrilled him that Leon wanted him above others. He was glad to give himself only to him.

Why was that, though? Between soft bites of Leon’s nape, he wondered if it was because they shared the blood of The Everlasting, but he had not felt anything towards Lukas or to Mathias. Was it because The Ruined had already claimed Mathias? Then by that logic, that made Leon his. Yes, he thought. Leon was all his. Even when he had freed him, he still laid claim to his heart. Satisfied with himself, he bit down, harder this time. He heard a stifled grunt come from Leon, which made him release his skin. He could taste blood.

“Ah!” he gasped. There were trails of sanguine flowing down Leon’s neck. He was bleeding. “Leon, I’m sorry…!”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry—” But Emil instinctively cast cold fire onto his neck, removing the crescent-shaped punctures on his skin. Leon’s eyes were wide. “Didn’t you hear the count?” he hissed under his breath as though Berwald were listening. “He told you not to use that!”

The deed was already done. Emil’s hands trembled. “I-I couldn’t help it. I hurt you.”

Leon rubbed the spot where he had been bitten. There was no pain and no mark. “It was nothing. You could have left it. It would have been, like, a reminder of you.”

“I couldn’t,” Emil frowned. He leaned to kiss Leon’s neck now that the blood was gone. “Did the others hurt you, too?”

“Yes,” Leon spoke with a cold voice, ill-fitting of his warmth. “They did many things to me in the dark…” When he seized his voice, Emil was afraid he would fall into madness again, but he held himself together. “You don’t need to know what those things were, Emil, only that they happened.”

_Yet I see no markings on you_ , Emil silently observed. He had bathed with him enough that he could be envious of Leon’s durability. He had traveled hundreds of leagues from Jiaqer to Crodinia, yet his skin was soft and supple as a newborn child’s. That had been, of course, after scrubbing all of the mud, grime, and blood off of him on their first night. “If the darkness scares you, Leon, I could give you one of my lamps,” he offered. “I have so many, you could take one. I don’t mind.”

Leon chuckled, his voice vibrating in his throat. “When you’re here, I’m not scared. You’ve always been nice to me. You’re the only light I need.”

“I’m not…” As much as he would have insisted, Emil was flattered by his words. He loved being needed by Leon, he realized. “If you do need one, though, just ask me.”

“I will,” Leon smiled.

Then, disaster came. Its arrival was a thunderous shock to the portside of _Ironclip’s_ hull, knocking it and everything within to its side. Emil and Leon were so startled by the impact that they went flying from the cot and slammed into the door. Boards and bodies fell into the narrow hall, glass shattering and men screaming not far off.

“Leon!” Emil shouted for him. He saw his neck go limp and nearly gave out before he saw him struggle to his feet.

“Ugh,” he groaned. He rubbed his head and tested his limbs. All still moved, and he looked to the prince who was still lying on the ground. His eyes went to the lower half of his body. He quickly pulled him up and shielded him. “Emil, your legs.”

Face red, Emil frantically turned his head to see if anyone had noticed, pulling up his cloth and tying it down. He gathered his balance and composure just as Tino came bursting from his cabin across theirs.

“Emil!” he gasped. “Thank the gods you’re alright!”

Someone ran past them. Emil had to lean back into his cabin so he would not be grazed. “Are we under attack?”

The margrave’s round face was pale. He disappeared back into his cabin for a split second and came out with his alchemag. “Probably, Emil. Stay in your room and do not open the door. Keep in the middle if you can. Don’t go near the hull.”

Emil’s stomach was tight. “Who’s mad enough to attack us out here?” He thought of the Tabrinnish, but even they, especially in a time of peace, had no reason to venture as far north as the Blizzarding Isles.

A crashing sound split the air. Berwald ripped through his door, a long sturdy spear in hand. “Not who, a what,” he grunted, his stone expression masking a fury of disappointment. Emil’s heart sank when he realized what he had done, but there was no time to focus on that now. “We’ve got a kraken out there.”


	19. His Quelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm rages on.

“I used cold fire back then, too.”

“What?” Leon had braced the two of them against one of the cots and sat huddled against the wall. There were no portholes this far below the hull. All they could do was hide in the cabin and wait for it to be over, just like the game the prince and his brother had played.

Emil had remembered, then, as the ship rattled and the sailors screamed outside, what sort of game he and Lukas had played on their voyage to the mainland those many years ago. He thought of sending a prayer, but as the captain had said, there were no gods out there. _Only fortune_. “This is all my fault,” he sobbed. “It’s just like before. If I hadn’t used the fire, it wouldn’t have come.” 

Rubbing his shoulders, Leon shushed him and planted kisses into his hair. He could not do anything either, save for easing the prince’s fallen spirits. He was without magic and prowess at sea. “This happened before?”

Emil sniffled. He wiped the tears from his eyes, cursing his weakness for the hundredth time. Wherever he went, he only brought misfortune. The Ruined might as well have taken over his blood, too. “My father discovered I bore The Everlasting when I turned four. I was using cold fire. White flames are among the rarest of magics—and only a vessel like me can use it to heal. When I scraped my knee trying to catch my puffin, I just knew how to use it; it was like an instinct. When I was hurt, I used it. When I was tired, I used it. When something was broken, I used it. It was then that my father put this ring on me.” He looked spitefully to his finger where the ring still stayed. At first, he had complained about the irritation of the ring he had to wear, and how heavy it had been when he had tried to rub his eyes. When he had tried to eat with a knife or fork, it had gotten in the way of his clumsy fists. “He told me never to take it off and that bad things would happen if I did. I’m sure he told Lukas what to do with me if I should ever change.”

Leon was reminded of the painful outburst that had come from the Shadow on the day of their departure. Even as a boy, he had been instructed to kill the god to save his younger brother. “I’m sorry, Emil,” was all he could say.

“But I was young.” Emil angrily clenched his fist and slammed it on the wall. “I thought it was fun to tear pillows and watch the feathers float down. I used cold fire to mend them and do it all over again. I wasn’t thinking. How could I have known what it would draw out? I didn’t even know it _was_ a sea monster. Lukas protected me. Even back then, he was always protecting me.” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “He made it look like some silly game. We were hiding from thunder spirits, and he told me that when the boat rocked, it was because we made too much noise. We could have died! We could die right now…!”

“Shh, shh, Emil, it’s alright,” Leon soothed him and stroked his hair. “This was my fault. If I didn’t get sick so easily, maybe this wouldn’t be happening. You didn’t know; it’s not your fault.”

Emil miserably buried his face in his hands. He was exhausted from everyone taking the blame away from him. “Don’t pit this to yourself. It’s _always_ my fault, Leon. Lukas’ suffering, us leaving, now this…! I can’t even help them. I want to be stronger, but I can’t be. Why am I like this?”

Leon continued to pet him. “If you weren’t the way you are now, I wouldn’t have met you,” he said. “In that way, I’m glad you’re weak. Maybe you’ll think it’s cruel of me to say, but it’s true to me. If you were any stronger, I don’t think your brother would’ve given me to you. You wouldn’t have needed someone like me.”

Emil’s tears dammed for the moment. It was true, as he was now, he needed someone like Leon. He was glad to have him here so he would not have to face this alone. However, that string of events was also part of the curse that plagued the Steilsson line. He could never escape it. Now, by some cruel irony, when he _had_ tried to escape it, here he was trying to return to it, and in this godless sea, they were likely to drown in it or forever be lost in its icy depths. He twisted his ring, cursing his existence and cursing the gods. He only wanted…What _did_ he want? He thought he had been happy, but he had walked a fine line to maintain that happiness. What had changed?

“You alright, Emil?”

Leon. It was Leon. He had chosen him. Fate had chosen him. It was why he had chosen to reveal himself to him, why they shared the god’s blood, why they were here now. This could not be the end. There had to be more to his path than perishing out here. Yet as he attempted to convince himself of this, the ship groaned and creaked, and the violent rocking and crashing of glass and ferroak reminded him that they were beyond the gods’ mercy now.

_If I were to fall into the sea out here beyond their blessings, will I truly be able to find death?_

He stopped twisting his ring and rid himself those sick thoughts. “I-I’m fine. Leon, you and I aren’t going to die here.”

To his surprise, Leon laughed. Loudly. “I totally hope not. That’d be, like, really messed up, wouldn’t it? Someone would laugh at that—Well, I guess _I_ am.” Emil would have groaned, had he not been so apprehensive. Leon was growing on him too much.

For the greater part of an hour, the kraken’s attack did not relent. Emil wished he could have gone on deck and seen what sort of battle was taking place. He had only read about krakens and seen them in picture books or paintings. Great sea monsters of the Blizzarding Seas, they were. Some were smaller than others, but he had read that even the smallest could tear a good-sized ship like this apart. The largest could be as big as islands. He wondered if there were some out there that were as big as his birthplace.

“So, like, what’s a kraken, anyway?” Leon asked, hoping to break the silence and tension.

“A sea monster,” Emil plainly answered. He braced himself when a thunderous roar shook the hull. His ears rang. “They’re thought to be children of the ancient ones. I might’ve shown you a picture of them. Have you ever seen a squid?”

“A squid?” Leon frowned, trying to recall. “Is it, like, the one you people call with ten arms or eight?”

“Er, ten, but I suppose a kraken can look like either a squid or an octopus.”

“Octopus…?” Leon softly echoed to himself in wonderment.

“Some stories in Crodinia say that’s all they are: giant octopi or squids. Some stories say they bear a protective hard shell like a crab’s.”

“Huh. That's…interesting.”

“They’re famously known for attacking ships,” Emil continued. Funny, he thought. As frightening as he was making them out to be, talking about them was easing his nerves somewhat.

“Fantastic,” Leon sarcastically commented. “Next you’ll tell me there are dragon-squids that eat sunken ships.”

The prince twisted his lips together. “There is something like that, I believe, but that was from a farfetched tale I found in some Ésbellan publication.”

“Do enlighten me.” Perhaps the prospect of listening to descriptions of sea monsters had boldened Leon’s spirits.

Emil did that much. “When Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the Golden King, came back from The Otherlands, he brought with him gold, exotic fruits and animals, and stories. One such story told of a great monster that dwells within the ocean— _all_ oceans, at that.” Emil wistfully smiled at memories of the simpler times. “Do you remember what I told you out at the ocean’s edge the first time I took you out there?”

“All oceans and seas connect.” Leon’s memory was astounding.

“Well, that sea monster is said to be so large that it sleeps at the bottom of all the world’s waters. They say it has the head of an octopus and the body and wings of a giant two-legged dragon. When it awakens, it will be the end of life as we all know it. Tremors in the waters and strange lights from off shore are signs that it’s stirring.”

Leon exhaled, whether scoffing or releasing stress, it was difficult to tell. “I thought you had a story for how some colossi eating another would be the world’s end. It’s a good thing we didn’t have those kinds of folklore in Altorien, then. Most of our stories were about colorful demons and strange animals—none of which were, like, close to life-threatening.” He pulled Emil close when _Ironclip_ flew to a side. “From what it feels like, whatever’s out there is real enough for me.”

Emil agreed, and sure enough, the thing that was so real out there had somehow torn open the hatch, whipped its way through the series of halls, and smashed its arm along the cabin doors. Emil screamed and backed into the wall, a fruitless effort for safety. “It’s here!” he cried in terror. “Leon…!”

He felt the protective arms of the Altorienese pull him away from the doors, but the slamming continued. They both thought they could hear the men’s voices more clearly now, a result of the hatch being ripped apart. The sounds persisted, and the crackle of what sounded like energy shattered outside the thin walls. All the while, _Ironclip_ swayed to and fro, and Emil was certain Leon was grateful he had drunk the potion and kelderberry cider earlier.

But this was no time to be feeling ill. The monster was at their steps. With no porthole to the outside and the monster on the inside, they were inevitably trapped. The only hope they had for salvation were the men battling outside, and if the kraken had managed to get in here, that had to have meant they were losing.

“Hold onto me, Emil,” Leon breathed as he braced himself against a sudden lean.

Emil sobbed, trying his hardest to wrap his arms around his chest. He cursed himself and the gods. If he had to be the vessel of one of them, why could it not have been The Arcane or The Valiant? At least he might have had the knowledge or bravery to assist his king’s men above or even just outside the door. But instead, The Everlasting in him beckoned him to take shelter and hide from the world, in this place that was godless and cold.

 _What part had you played in The Dawning to make this creature hate you so?_ Emil loathingly wondered as the noises persisted. He nearly fell off the cot with Leon had he had not kicked a foot and braced against the cargo boxes. Somewhere outside, the sound of wood shattering cracked.

Then, as was as he had feared in the worst case scenario, the door to their cabin gave way, and the sight of a large olive green tendril slithered into their congested space.

“Ahhh!” Emil screamed and pushed back. He felt Leon squeeze him, stubborn as to not lose him here. The arm must have sensed him, as it instantly shot at the two, faster than either of them could have imagined. It needed not wrap itself wholly around them, for it had on its arm hundreds of suckers, some big, some small. Emil wailed in agony as he felt his skin tighten and tear from the absorbing pressure. Then, a tug. With remarkable strength, he felt their bodies being pulled forward, out of the cot, down to the floor, and across the halls. Try as they did to kick out with their feet, they could not brace themselves, and any harder resistance might have meant snapping their limbs clean in two.

“We’re being pulled!” Emil cried. He looked up to see the hatch opened, rain and sleet showering from above and drenching the wood and carpets through and through. If they went out there, all would be lost.

Suddenly, a crackle of energy and light shot from the hatch and sailed down at the arm. A loud grunt broke the chaos, and a dark shape came flying down on the arm, crushing it with its weight and sending a surge of what looked like lightning throughout its length. Something large thrashed from outside, and the arm had stopped moving, a sickening stench of cooked fish and rotten entrails filling the air.

“Y’alright?”

“Berwald!” Emil gasped, softening his hold on Leon in the moment. “Oh gods, thank you! I was afraid we were lost. It came in; it knew where to look.”

The count had a grave and worn look on his face, but he did not falter. “Let it slip past me. Stay down. Go further back if you have t—”

“Berwald!”

The count suddenly doubled over when something wrapped around his waist and pulled him beyond their reaches. He disappeared onto the deck without so much as a sound, save for the prince’s screams.

“We have to help him!” Emil shouted.

Leon pulled the prince away, struggling to run with him resisting in tow. He barely made it as far as the third set of doors. “What are you doing, Emil? He said to go to the back!”

“I can’t let him die! He’s my friend!”

Seizing the prince by the shoulders, Leon gave him a hard shove into the wall. He was panting as he spoke. “If _you_ die, then everyone’s lives up there and down here won’t mean anything! He told you not to use the fire, and you did, and now you’re going to disobey him again?! You want me to disobey your brother, too? Don’t you trust us?”

Emil stared at him with petrified eyes. The air gave a sharp snapping sound as something above broke. The mast? Neither of them could not afford to care right now.

“I swore to your brother that I'd keep you safe,” Leon growled, squeezing him, “and I seriously mean to do that on his word and mine.” He looked at the prince with intense desperation in his eyes. “Please, Emil, I meant it when I said you are the only light I need—and have. If you’re gone, I won’t have anything left. We’ll have to trust Berwald and the others right now, but don’t be so stupid about it.”

The prince finally blinked some inkling of life into him. He fearfully wrapped himself into Leon’s arms and sobbed, wishing himself to be stronger. “Leon…Leon…I…”

“It’s alright, Emil,” Leon whispered, stroking his back. “Someday you’ll be strong enough—just not now.” He picked him up and took him further to the stern of the hull. “Just be patient. I promise we’ll get through this.”

They went as far as they could go, the cabins emptied, save for one with what looked like a lowly deckhand cowering in the fifth cabin. Emil and Leon tucked themselves away in the seventh room on the starboard side, huddling up in a cot that smelled of old sweat and fish guts.

“It stinks,” Emil had the spirits to complain once his tears were dry.

“That’s good,” Leon brought himself to smile. “If you can say that, that means you have the energy to stay on guard.”

Emil sniffed and rubbed his eyes. He hated the sea, he decided. It had been beautiful from a distance, but when they sailed upon it, it was nothing but freezing, cramped, dark, and wet. He wanted to go home, he realized—home as in the fair castle in Markal. He wanted to hear Mathias laughing again and get lost in the library looking for fancy tales to read. He wished Lukas were here to comfort him, and Leon could follow him like a dutiful pet, though he had his freedom. They would be on solid ground, away from all of this nonsense. The seas were all that: nonsense, nonsense, and nonsense.

The glowstone lamp swung angrily from the ceiling in their new fortress. It was a smellier hiding spot than their old room, but it would have to make do. Emil wondered if his possessions were safe. He had in their cabin a book he had meant to finish and some moose jerky he had purchased somewhere between Kvaran territory and Thilas lands. In his satchel from the king and queen of Thursaunia, he held his trackle light, a piece of glassbark, a blank journal from the Bävmek king, and his Azielan knife from Mathias. The other gifts he could replace, but the knife—especially coming from Mathias—was priceless to him. He would love to salvage it if he could.

“I don’t suppose you know any good stories about the sea where the main cast escapes, do you?” Leon asked in the muffled depths. To their unnerving relief, the sounds were not as frequent and the rocking not as violent as before.

“I didn’t frequent sailor taverns enough to know,” Emil admitted, “but I know of one about a mermaid and a king. We actually heard the song version in the Pie Corner that one night during the Red Summer. Do you remember?”

Leon scrunched his face. “Something about a tale of a kingdom?”

“It’s a story about someone who bartered between love and duty. If you had to choose one or the other, what would it be?”

“Easy,” his former pet smiled, “I’d choose you.”

The prince felt his cheeks grow hot. “That—You can’t do that, Leon. That’s cheating.”

“It’s the truth,” said Leon. Emil was both his love and duty. The prince expectantly looked to him, hoping he’d prove the declaration. Leon did so with a kiss. “Alright, let’s hear your story about the struggles between love and duty.”

Emil took a deep breath. “It’s called _The Blue Tail._ ”

That was as far as the prince got, for in nothing but a lightning fraction of a second later, Leon was pulled from out beneath his arms. His fingers slipped past Emil’s hands, and before he could blink, he was gone. Emil screamed.

* * *

What was once warm and loving became foreign to him, like waking from a lovely dream or being plunged headfirst into a nightmare. The intimacy of his beloved was stolen away from him. Just like everything else. His toys. His friends. His innocence. His name. He had not the time to scream as Emil had, when he had last seen his frightened eyes. He was tired of seeing him look like that. He wanted him to be peaceful, safe, happy. Try as he did to tear free, he was moving too fast beyond the narrow hall to get a grip on anything. He feared that if he should even try, his arms would tear themselves from his shoulders at the sheer strength of the kraken.

But he had one thing that sent him at teetering ease: it had taken him, not his beloved prince. _You’re still safe, Emil. Stay there. Don’t move. Hide._ He hoped the prince had the common sense to do that. Then again, with his emotions and heart being the way they were, he was confident Emil would be too stunned and despaired to move.

The cabin doors zipped past his eyes until he saw the ladder that led to the open hatch. The heavy ferroak door was gone, ripped away with brute force. The rain and snow pelted him like angry cold stingers, and his lungs screamed for air. The temperature was so biting with frost that his eyes almost stung with tears. _Don’t cry here_. Up and up he went until the deck vanished beyond his dangling arms. He was ten meters in the air. If he fell, he would feel it.

_Not dead_ , he told himself. _I’m alive. It hasn’t killed me. Not going to. Not yet…for some reason._

Why?

A crackle of energy shot from somewhere at the far end of the stern. It was like a pebble of light with brilliant sparks. Leon watched it fire straight into the appendage of the kraken, sending a shower of sparks stringing ribbons and flashes of lightning everywhere. Leon could see now. The arm was _long_ , as long as the ship, itself. There were five others wrapped around _Ironclip._ One had a burnt end with gaping flesh pockets, possibly the one that had entered the hull. Another lay lifeless as a log in the middle, something separating the tip off with immense force, like it was ripped apart instead of sliced or hacked.

Above deck, there were mages and knights battling against the arms, some holding it at bay with fire, lightning, and ice. Elsewhere, others were holding formation with a tight circle of blades, halberds, spears, and magic. They jabbed and emptily sliced whenever a dripping arm got too close. Leon turned his head back where the light came from. Before the crackling stopped, he could see the margrave loading a bullet into his alchemag, holding himself against a wooden pillar. Next to him was Captain Harlan, strapped with coils upon coils of rope to the steering wheel, that he might anchor himself down to steer the ship. _A captain always goes down with his ship, isn’t that how the saying goes?_ He had forgotten where he had heard that before.

He felt a tug. With the arm being shot, he could feel the appendage retreating back into the ocean. But it had not released him. _I need to break free._ He punched the slimy flesh around his waist, and when he found it had no effect, he tried to claw at it. He might as well have tried tickling it.

Then, another shot fired out with light, this one more brilliant. Instead of the pale yellow color of custard, this was a saturated hue of blues and bold purples. This was more powerful. Before even the beast could react, Leon felt something hot and ticklish surge through his body. Then, the tickling feeling became sharp and spindly, like being stabbed with a thousand needles. Then, fire. He screamed and screamed some more. And continued. It would not stop. It hurt. He could not think. Everything was only pain. His mind was growing numb. His body seized. Nothing moved. He thought he had died. It was black. Cold. Hot. Nothingness. He did not know if he was awake or asleep. It still hurt. It always hurt.

* * *

_“Where does it hurt?”_

_All over._

_“Who did this to you?”_

* * *

He let out a reeling gasp. Where was he? Had he passed out? He looked. He could see the burning blackened flesh of the kraken’s arm. He could smell it, too. It reeked of burnt leavings and guts that the cooks in Markal had charred to ashes to be thrown into the gardens. It smelled oddly of a home he had once known. That, too, was gone now.

But the monster still held him. Even though its nerves should have been completely obliterated with Leon alongside it, it somehow still moved. It was not letting him go. Anger coursed through his veins. He tried to grab something of it and rip it away. Someone else had done it. He could do the same. “Let go of me!” he shouted. “You’re a pain! We don’t want you here! Go away!” He clawed hard and grabbed nothing, its flesh thick and slippery.

The arm swung itself back and forth, forcing Leon’s stomach and head to launch forward at the mercy of the giant sea monster. He would have heaved had he not emptied his stomach earlier, he was certain of it. Below, against the crashing waves and hammering rain, he could see the arms blindly searching for life and extinguishing it in their death-like grasp. Leon saw one unfortunate man stray too close; he swung outward with his spear to prod one of the kraken’s arm. The tentacle wrapped around the spear and slithered its way to the wielder, sucking onto his hands until he could no longer break free. Then, like tossing a bug away, it launched the man backwards screaming into the black void of the ocean. Leon shuddered when he could no longer hear his voice.

_I’m next. Fuck, I’m next._

He tried to kick himself out or wriggle from underneath the kraken’s hold, but its many suckers held tight to his skin and pinched it with stubborn force. He looked around for some leverage or a weapon, but he found nothing so high and suspended in the air. Even if he were near something, his arms could barely move to anything of leverage. “Fuck!” he cursed. Then, a shot of light fired again, and this time, the creature swung its arm and Leon away. It dodged.

_What—?_

It could see. Or somehow it had sensed the bullet was coming for it. Leon saw no eyes. It was like an octopus, Emil had said. That meant at the source of all the arms was a body with eyes, so it used sight to see. How could it have known a bullet was being fired at it? Did it have some kind of eyes elsewhere? Could its arms sense the change in temperature? Was it intelligent enough to learn?

Whatever the case, he knew he had to break free. Sooner or later, he, too, would be catapulted into the sea. His only assumption for it not doing that now was that its nerves may have been fried from Tino’s two bullets from before. He was honestly surprised _his_ nerves had not been shocked to oblivion.

“Tino!” Leon heard a deep voice shout. _Berwald. He's alive._ The count had come from nowhere. In his hands was the long pole-like weapon, a surge of electricity crackling at a blunt end. Leon had seen him use it back beneath the deck when the arm had come for Emil the first time. He watched Count Oxenstierna charge at the arm and ready back his pole for a launch. Another burst of light came forth. _Useless_ —Leon thought, but suddenly, instead of dodging the alchemag's ammunition, the arm tried to move away from Berwald’s pole. As it did so, the arm moved straight in the path of the bullet, and an explosion blasted at the arm’s base, sending chunks of flesh flying in all directions across the deck. Something below the sea let out a low creaking groan, and the remaining arms withdrew halfway into the sea.

Berwald, with his pole still charged, used the opportunity to hurl it straight at the tentacle with Leon still held captive. It sank itself deep into the gaping wound that Tino had made, shocking it from the inside. All the arms thrashed about in pain, Leon doing his best to stay conscious despite the cold and the pain in his head. Then, Berwald grabbed onto the pole and pressed a button at his end. Leon did not know what the device had done, but suddenly, he could feel himself being lowered by the count’s massive strength. Berwald let out a loud roar as he pulled with all his might and slammed the arm on the deck. He shouted orders, and a team of men were on the arm in an instant, pinning it down with stabs of swords, spears, and halberds. He tore Leon free with a single tug, and ripped him away from the suckers sticking to him, Leon’s skin pinching and popping as the kraken’s hold vanished.

Leon collapsed onto the ground, coughing and shivering when he realized how little air he had had and how underprepared he was for the weather above deck. Berwald seized ahold of the pole that still lay buried deep inside the burnt section of the arm and pried it out, taking a whole chunk of meat and viscera with it. When he squinted against the rain, Leon could see that the pole had grown a series of barbs at the end. _So that’s what he did earlier._

Berwald barked orders, and the men hacked away at the arm until only an unrecognizable mass was left. What remained of the arm at last withdrew into the sea. “Not done yet,” he growled above the sleet and wind. “Need one more arm ‘fore it thinks on leavin’.” He swept an arm over the deck. “Position yourselves.” The men broke away from the dismembered tentacle and formed a tight circle again. Having seen their comrade be lost to the sea, they had learned to keep their weapons within a safe reach.

“Get below,” Berwald ordered Leon. “Emil’s still down there?”

“Yes,” Leon nodded as he found his feet.

“Hurry,” the count urged him along with a nudge of his hand. Leon fumbled towards the open hatch, a soft golden light emitting from beneath. He turned to descend the ladder down when a thrust from the bottom of the ship made everyone jump. He would have flown off of the deck had the castobat not been aboard.

“Ah!” he cried out in surprise. He fell back down onto the sopping wet deck, his hands slipping and dotted red with sucker marks. “Gravity…” he breathed. “Castobats change gravity.” He looked around to see any recognizable uniforms of the specialized mages, but he could hardly see against the pelting rain. Then, he found one with a bright striped uniform cloaking a scarf laden with sallfish oil, a fat used to make other materials waterproof. He was speaking frantically on about something with the margrave when his body pulled back and disappeared into the same blackness as the knight had.

“No!” Tino screamed. “Berwald, we lost Yarm!”

Leon spotted a flash of a look that could only be rare concern on Berwald’s statue of a face. His stern gaze dropped for but a fraction of a second before he turned to the men to run towards the broken mast. He ordered another team to do something, and Leon saw them run to a round of ropes strapped to the ship’s lesser mast and pull them to the center.

 _I shouldn’t be out here._ Leon fearfully knew. He dragged himself to his feet and went for the hatch once more when he saw what almost looked like a forest in front of him. But as soon as he peered closer, he saw that the forest was a series of tentacles rising from the portside. They all simultaneously grabbed the side of _Ironclip_ and pulled downwards. The entire ship gave way and leaned, causing everyone to roll to their feet and start slipping for the edge.

 _The castobats! Weren’t there two? Was that why the others looked so distraught?_ Leon slipped, too. Being the closest to the edge, he slammed into the railing before anyone else did. The others must have hung onto the mast or the ropes that Berwald called for. He felt the entire ship turn sideways, to the point where he probably could have stood flat on the railings, themselves.

“Dammit!” he screamed as he watched helplessly on. The ship continued to lean until one man flew past him, screaming as he fell overboard. Leon’s heart gave a tight squeeze. _That could have been me._ Perhaps the god of fortune was with him. _As if._

Then, one of the tentacles shot forward and made a grab for his waist. The wind was knocked out of his lungs, as he felt snow and sleet sting his face and eyes. He could not see; his eyes were blinded by the cold water. _Not again, damn it all!_ Desperate to break free, he tried to sink his nails into something for support, but he only succeeded in ripping them out from his fingers and leaving clawed bloody trails painted into the flesh. He still tried in spite of the pain. He hurt all over anyway. If he did not try, he would never be strong enough to save Emil.

 _I’m not dying here, either,_ he thought almost in manic insanity. _I survived a god. You think you have anything on me?_ He punched the arm in retaliation and found it soft yet firm. It was no use. He could have laughed had his teeth not been chattering. He realized just how cold and wet he was now, drenched through to the skin from the outdoors. In his fury and adrenaline, he had forgotten how to be afraid.

“Damn you,” he seethed to the kraken and to all else that stood in his way. “Damn you!” He screamed as the arm pulled him off the ship and away from the deck. He could not see below him now. There was only blackness. Darkness. He screamed more for the nothingness that lay below than of his imminent doom. _Not there. Anything but that. Let me go to the light. Please._

The water struck him like a sack of stone, solid and brutal. The reality of his situation hit him just as hard. He was lost. He could do nothing. He could not breathe. The sea was relentless and freezing. His head panged for a few moments before he felt a surge of euphoria, the very same sensation one could feel moments between the line of life and death. He was going to freeze to death if not drown.

_Emil…? Where are you? I’m…_

* * *

_“This isn’t over.”_

_Of course, it isn’t._

_“You don’t want it to be. You would’ve given up if you did.”_

_Wouldn't I?_

_“You’re not done here.”_

_I know I’m not. But why am I doing this at all? What’s the point?_

“Čhåtÿs næy ārd châü für mœdym úd drā pâccyd tåys mañcv. Fá fecc acá úd närdy thā.”

* * *

His nostrils stung. Water. They were filled with water. When he opened his mouth for air, it, too, filled with the stinging salt of the sea. His hair floated around him, grazing his ears and cheeks like grass in a dense wind. The space became lighter, the weight of him floating up and up. Something came loose. He heard a splash burst. It was him. The floating space gave way to the pitter-pattering of raindrops and the flashing hiss of waves. He heard yelling. He tried to open his eyes, but the frigid winds blew them harshly shut. His body was felt being lifted from one point to another. Then, a thud, and he felt the sensation of solid ground beneath him. Land…? No, not land. The ship. He was back on the ship.

The realization made, he somehow found his arms, then his fingers. He tried to move them and found them stiff and shivering. All he could do was cough. Generous amounts of water came up soon after, as he vomited it by the mouthfuls in succession. He could barely make out the sounds of voices gathering around him, despite the rage of tempests.

Then, “Leon? Can ya hear me?”

His teeth chattered, but he knew it was Berwald. He was shivering and curled into a fetal position as his nodded as best he could. He did not know if he ever stopped; his neck was jittering like the rest of him.

“Get ‘im dry. He needs t’ get warm. Watch out for the kraken ‘n case it comes back.”

After he finished coughing, Leon felt hands bring him to his feet. They guided him to the ladder and told him to descend. He still could not see. The saltwater had stung his eyes blind. They murmured something about getting him to the sickbed and led him in the opposite direction of Emil. “W-W-Wait…” he stuttered. “N-Need to-to g-g-ooo-ooo back. His Highness needs t-t—to know I’m alright.” He tried to turn around, himself, but the men pushed him in the opposite direction.

“Lad, you almost drowned. You’re lucky you got thrown back. Don't know why the bloody fuck it'd do that...” Leon could have sworn he heard the other one mumbling something about wishing he had gone overboard, but perhaps it was his delirium getting the better of him.

He was brought to a cozy room, the air dry and warm, possibly from a large supply of warming stones. They told him to strip, so he did, glad to be free of his sopping wet clothes. The only thing he refused to remove was the red ribbon Emil had given him. He was surprised it had managed to stay on his wrist all that time. One of the men handed him a wool rag and told him to dry off. Leon did so, first dabbing his eyes until he could see. He proceeded through with the rest of his body until he was faring far better.

“I’ll fetch Tanson,” one of them offered to look for the ship’s medical expert. He disappeared and returned with two others trailing behind him. One was the apothecary. The other was—

“Emil.” His heart soared at the very sight of him. He was alright. His nerves were no doubt shaken, but he was completely unharmed, otherwise.

“Leon!” the prince cried and pushed his way past the others. He threw his arms around him, spewing apologies about his inability to help him. His touch was soft and warm. He had always known the prince to have a colder touch than most, but here where the Blizzarding Seas were unforgiving in their icy temperatures, Emil was the warmest thing to him. He almost kissed him when he remembered they were in the audience of others.

“I’m alright, Emi—Master. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Tanson, _Ironclip_ ’s apothecary, coaxed the prince to give him some space to exam Leon. The other men dismissed themselves and returned above deck to assist Count Oxenstierna. Tanson administered warming ointments to his skin and gave him a warm drink. It tasted of spices and alcohol, an undesirable combination to Leon’s palette, but it did the job of making his body temperature increase. He eventually stopped shivering, and his breathing had become even and steady. Sometime later, Tino paid them a visit and asked for Tanson to go above and examine the others. When the apothecary left, the margrave turned his attention to the pair. “It looks like it’s over. The kraken retreated.” He studied them. “Is everything alright in here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Emil replied with a guilty expression. “It was my fault…I didn’t listen to Berwald, and because of me…”

The margrave’s eyes were round and kind. His voice was full of sympathy and forgiveness. “We all make mistakes. What’s important is that you learn from this. It may not have been a clean break, but…” He paused to look at them, sighing in relief to see they were unharmed. “…We had some casualties, but Berwald and the captain are alright.”

The prince exhaled a large breath, hearing that Berwald was alive. “I’m deeply sorry for causing all of this.” His lips trembled, afraid to look outside. What sort of carnage lay in wait out there at his expense?

“Oh, Emil,” the margrave sighed. “It’s alright.” But it was not. Leon knew that. Emil knew that. He had almost lost his former pet. It would have meant all of this would have been for nothing. He would have taken his ring off for nothing. Lukas would have had to suffer again for nothing. Everyone above who had been lost to this attack would have perished for nothing. It could not continue on like this. Emil knew this more than anyone, yet he was still not restrained enough to have prevented it.

The sound of heavy boots interrupted the uncomfortable silence, and a large man knelt down to enter the warm congested room. “Lost both castobats and seven men,” a deep voice grunted. That one was familiar enough. All heads turned to see the count limping on one leg, his hand pressing a gash in his torso. There was blood and seawater running from it. Leon had not paid enough attention to his condition during the attack. The count had fared a lot worse than he remembered. Emil gasped and nearly flew to summon his fire when he stopped. That very action had been the cause of all this in the first place. “Emil, y’ alright?”

The prince could hardly bear to look at the count. His eyes had averted themselves to an uninteresting wall, and his lips were pressed into a guilty line. “Berwald,” he sniffed, “I’m sorry. I should have listened. I’m so sorry.”

The count held up a hand, his expression stern but his eyes betraying a contrasting benevolence. His spectacles had cracked in both lenses, and his short straw-blonde hair was drenched and matted. He needed rest above all else, since Emil could not hope to heal him or the others out here, but as it was his duty to escort Emil to the Islands of Morstur, he could not find respite so easily. “S’alright,” he finally managed to say, his voice as soft and gentle as could be. “Y’ didn’t know something’d come. I didn’t know either. ‘M not mad. No one is.”

 _Scared and wet is what they are if not mad_ , Leon thought to himself.

“Why doesn’t anyone get mad at me?” Emil desperately wailed. “Stop forgiving me! It’s not _It_ that makes these mistakes—it’s _me_! I chose to use the fire; I should have to pay for it!”

The count slowly shook his head like a disappointed parent. Bleeding though he was, even he looked more mentally worn out than physically. “Getting’ mad doesn’t bring back the men we lost. It only makes y’ sad an’ confused.” He looked to Tino who had luckily gotten away with little more than a few scuffs. He, too, however, was soaked through by snow and sea. The fluffy sheepskin cloak the margrave had worn had been washed of its weatherproof oils, and his body had formed into a gourd-like shape from all the layers sticking to his skin. “If ya want me to be mad about summin’, then I’ll be mad that y’think we’re supposed t’ be mad. We don’t protect you because of what y’are; we do it because we care about you an’ worry about you.” On that, he and Tino took their leave to tend to those who were still alive above deck.

In his remorse, Emil had to let Berwald’s words process for a moment to even understand. By the end of it, however, he felt no better. He did not feel as though he had grown from this experience. All he felt like was lost, like a child, only the punishment had been a lash of severe guilt instead of a physical strike. 

“What should I do, Leon?” he asked through short breaths and clenched fists. He wanted to cry, but he had to constantly remind himself that he was supposed to be an adult and a young lord. He wanted to do so, anyway.

“Pick up and move on,” Leon told him with seasoned bluntness. He had been in similar positions before. “Listen to Berwald and Tino. Learn from your mistakes and don’t repeat them. You should only go forward.”

Emil stared into his golden eyes, as though hoping there were more answers to be offered his short words. “How do you do it? The things you must’ve seen…How could you bear to live through them? I don’t even get that out…”

“I was forced to,” Leon said, a dark flame wavering in his eyes. Perhaps the color was because of the glowstones, but Emil could not be certain. “Once, there was a boy who was promised great things in his life. He was told that at a young age over and over again. Knowing that there would be some sort of hope at the end of it made the boy keep going, no matter what was asked of him. He hurt all over, and the darkness shut him away from the world for years on end, but he knew there would be something to make it worth it. There had to be, right? After all of that pain, something had to come of it…”

He could not contain himself any longer. He seized Emil by the shoulders and forced him into a wall. He pressed his lips onto him and kissed him so fiercely, Emil thought he would be devoured. His legs weak, he slung himself over Leon’s neck and kissed him back, letting his worries dissolve into his embrace.

They lay there tangled in each other’s arms. Emil rested his head to Leon’s chest, listening to his familiar heartbeat. It was becoming a lullaby to him. His eyes heavy, his voice sounded like a dream when he spoke. “Am I the hope you were promised, Leon?”

He chuckled, stroking his fine snow-kissed hair. “Who said I was the boy in that little story of mine?” He pressed his lips to Emil’s forehead. “But yes, you are my hope, Emil. That I believe.”

“Then,” Emil murmured as he felt sleep come to him, “if you’re here with me, does that mean your story is over?” He heard Leon humming a foreign tune that perhaps once belonged to the crumbled empire he had come from.

* * *

_“It’s time to go.”_

* * *

“Leon?”

“Hmm?”

“You looked like you were thinking about something.” Emil moved to him and brushed his bangs away. The genuine look of concern in his eyes was a more loving expression than any of the false affections he had been bestowed in his younger years.

To that knowledge, he smiled and took Emil’s fingers in his hands. “I’m fine.” He stroked them. Something stung. He winced and looked at his own fingers. There were bloody stumps where fingernails were supposed to be. “Oops. They’ve must’ve…”

Emil gasped, his face pale as a sheet. “What happened to you?”

Leon took his hand away and studied the bloodied ends. In all the action, he had forgotten about the pain. He really had tried to break free from the kraken’s grasp. Odd. Stubborn, though it was to hold him, it did not discard him as it had the other sailors. He wanted to chalk that up to luck, but he had a feeling there may have been a higher power at work. Perhaps there was some mercy with the gods, after all. Or perhaps the one whose body contained the god was the one who was responsible. “I tried to claw my way free from the kraken when it took hold of me. I’m fine now. The apothecary gave me ointments.”

“I’ll heal you when we land,” Emil offered. “There won’t be any krakens on the island to steal you away from me.” The fragile prince looked into Leon’s eyes, as though searching for something more hopeful. But as his ancestors had carried the burden before him, he knew there would never be a way to be truly free. “I wish the people I loved didn’t have to suffer anymore. I wish I was never born The Everlasting.” His cheek felt the gentle grace of skin.

Leon brought himself to face him and kissed him softly. “I still love you as you are, Emil, Everlasting and all. I’d suffer a thousand times over for you. But if you’d wish for that, then that’ll be my wish, too.”

Emil pressed his lips together. “You don’t have to do anything for me, Leon. You don’t owe me anything.”

“You have no idea, Emil. I owe you my life and more.” Leon kissed him again. He hummed a strange tune, thinking of a voice he thought he had heard somewhere before. Now it was but a memory. “Mm, I didn’t answer your question.”

Emil quizzically blinked amidst his blush. He was beginning to familiarize his movements with Leon’s, though no matter how many times they kissed, he was always reserved in his expressions. He always needed Leon to help guide him along. “You mean about your story being over?” He averted his gaze. “You don’t need to answer that. I know. I suppose in a sense, it’s going to stop with mine. Once we get to Morstur, our journeys will end.”

Leon chuckled at his naïve pessimism. “Sure, my story will end when yours does, but you’re wrong about one thing, Your Dear Highness.”

The prince blinked. “What’s that?”

“The _when_." He thought of his time in the darkness, of a broken promise, of the voices swirling in the mist, and of a creature beneath the depths from a place of no return. His heart had long since steeled itself for the challenges ahead. "You say our path ends when we reach the island, Emil, but I have a strong feeling—no, I know for a fact that this is only the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit meta, but "The Blue Tail" is actually a DenNor story in the works. I didn't have the writing maturity to write it at the time, but I am slowly bringing together a coherent plot.


	20. His Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew lands on the main Island of Morstur, Emil's birthplace. Leon is shown around House Steilsson and meets Emil's parents.

Salted lamb was served to a glum seafaring crew in the morning. Unlike the day before, there was no laughter, no fanfare, no idle chatter, and no smiles. Though Leon was grateful that today’s meal did not involve fish, he, too, felt the stilted weight of the atmosphere. It did not help that he had a more difficult time eating with his fingers being bandaged where his nails oozed pus and blood. If he was in pain, he never complained or announced it to his former master.

By the time all the crew members had broken their fast, not more than twenty words must have been spoken among the collective. Emil could not bear to look anyone in the eyes. He bore a burden heavier than anyone at the table. He ate as quickly as he could and excused himself, never minding if Leon had finished his breakfast or not. Of course, as soon as he took his leave, his former pet followed him back to his new cabin, tucked snuggly away at the far end of the ship’s hull. The rooms stank of fish leavenings, but the cots were dry and the walls and floors warm. They would remain here for the rest of the seafaring voyage.

To distract himself from using cold fire, Emil forced himself to journal, though the waves made his hand sway. He wrote of his last thoughts before he departed from the castle, of his journey west, and of his cherished traveling companion. He entered a new passage every three hours or so, a sentence or two to record his surroundings. When night came, he ran his thumb through the remaining black pages resting in the back of the cover. What sorts of other things might he fill his journal with by the time it was complete? Rules about lording, no doubt. But would his time in his family’s house be pleasant and peaceful as they had been in the castle? If so, he felt there would be little to write about. _Maybe that’s for the best._

And Leon. How long would he be by his side to help fill those passages? His first entry of him spoke of his time as his pet, though he was careful to never mention anything about freeing him or the god he carried inside of him. He hoped Leon would be with him to make many wonderful memories together. His short prospects realized, he looked to his former pet now.

Leon was drinking more kelderberry cider given to him by Berwald. Supposedly there was a generous stash in barrels somewhere by the pantry. He studied his silky black bangs and his narrowed golden eyes, the very eyes that had compelled him to make him his pet. His skin was not as pale as some Crodinians, but it was a great deal lighter than most. _“Nothing but bad things happened to me in the darkness.”_

The prince gave a shudder. Was that why he was pale? What sort of unspeakable things had someone done to him to make him recoil from the darkness by simply talking about it? Leon had warned him that he did not want to know, but being forbidden only made him more curious. He _wanted_ to know. He _deserved_ to. But now was not the time, not when their situation was still on edge. Just because the kraken had left did not mean it had completely gone away. There could always be another attack.

“Whatcha thinking about?” a voice suddenly asked. Emil blinked and saw Leon staring at him. There was a thin blue line of cider oozing from the corner of his lip. Emil wanted nothing more than to taste it.

“Uh, I was thinking about…um, nothing.”

His former pet raised an eyebrow. A smirk appeared on the side of his lips, and he wiped his mouth. “You’re not a good liar, you know that? In fact, how often have I heard you lie?”

The prince furrowed his brow, struggling to recollect any given instance. “Once? Twice? I must’ve lied to you when I thought of you as just a pet.”

“Nah, that doesn’t count,” Leon chuckled, a rare instance of coyness flashing in his smile. “I mean, like, you need to know how to talk like a lord. Make promises that satisfy both parties but play into your favor, flatter someone when you despise them with all your guts, stuff like that.”

“And how would you know how that works?”

“I’ve heard all kinds from the people in this kingdom. Your brother’s pretty good at it. You never picked up on it at all?”

“No? He never really let me attend hearings or get close to people during parties. You know why that is…”

Leon’s eyes fell in guilty knowing. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“But I worry about you. You’re the kind of person who’d easily get taken advantage of.”

Emil let out a sigh. “There’s no backstabbing and foul play on the Islands of Morstur. The people there are so mild-mannered and easygoing, there’s little reason to have strife. Even if there were, no one on the island would let them forget.”

His companion gave a short laugh. “If you say so. But say, like, you had to make a deal with someone important. How would you wriggle your way out if things didn’t go your way?”

“I—” _Why is he asking me this all of a sudden?_ “I don’t know, Leon. I don’t think I’ll ever find myself in that position. Even my father, stern as he is, rarely has to govern more than keeping farmers in line.”

“So you say,” Leon reiterated again. He took a great gulp of cider. Emil studied him again, noticing that while he looked more on the feminine side with his slender build and jaw-length bangs, he had slightly broad shoulders and a pronounced Adam’s apple. He watched the protrusion in his throat bob up and down as he drank. A hot flash suddenly ran its way through his body. Was that what it looked like when he drank him?

“Emil?” Leon caught him staring from the corner of his eye. He stopped drinking and looked at him again. “What’s the matter?”

Flustered, Emil tore his eyes away and fumbled with his tongue. “Uh—I—um, were you…always that tall?”

Leon swallowed his drink and let the spicy tart taste quell the nausea in his stomach. “I think I stopped growing, like, a year ago. Maybe you never noticed.”

“Is that right?” Emil did not feel wholly convinced now that he gave him a better look. He had brought up the question before, but it was still hard to believe Leon was always taller than him. Even when he had pulled him out of the dungeon, he did not seem to stand over him as he did now. Trying to convince himself, he said, “I guess Berwald didn’t stop growing until he was twenty. He’s always been tall, but there was a very small window when Mathias was actually taller than him.” He made a smirk, thinking of the memory. “I think that was the only time Mathias treated him mellowly. The two’ve always had a little bit of a thorn in their sides with each other. It’s too bad that period didn’t last longer. I liked when all the high lords got along with each other.”

“Really? It didn’t look like there was any discord back at the capital.”

Emil’s face fell into a frown. “Well, we didn’t exactly leave off at the most normal of times.”

“Still, it didn’t look too bad,” Leon shrugged. “Least you’re not, like, at civil war. There was a bit of that going on in Altorien all the time—not that I needed to tell you that.” 

“No, but sometimes it’s good to remember that we’re not always so alike,” Emil admitted. “But that still bothers me…” 

Leon cocked his head. “What?” 

“I’ve always known you were taller than me, but looking at you now…” The prince blushed, and it was irresistibly adorable to Leon. Leon wanted to wrap him in his arms and kiss him, but he thought it best to give him some space before they landed in Morstur. “…You seem _visibly_ taller than me. I can tell. I’ve noticed you have to lean when we…” He blushed again.

This time, Leon could not help himself. He moved over to Emil’s cot and gave him a light kiss on the lips. “When we do that?” he finished Emil’s sentence for him with a sly smile.

The prince pouted, once again revealing his failed attempts at maturity. “I’m sitting, Leon. And yes, I meant that.” He chewed at his lower lip. “If you stopped growing a year ago, maybe it was because you weren’t being fed enough. I remember eating a lot more when I was growing. It could be you still had room to grow.”

“Could be,” Leon supposed with a smile. “I’ve felt stronger since being with you.”

It was true. Leon had grown stronger by the end of their voyage at sea. He had grown accustomed to watery gruel and stale bread. The ale at the inns had leavenings of grease, and the meat had been nowhere near as flavorful as it had been in Markal, but his meals were far better than what he had endured during his journey across the old empire. His stomach had grown used to the sea’s rhythm, and his mind grew sharp and determined with every conversation exchanged between him and his former master. Where doubt and despair once lay seeded into his mind, Emil’s existence lifted him up and reminded him of all he had overcome. When loneliness intruded, he filled the void with Emil’s being, comforting him when they could be by themselves. He savored their conversations and thirsted for Emil’s warmth. No matter how long the hours passed or how fast the days flew, his thoughts only went to that of the one who had saved him from the darkness.

* * *

The skies were a sullen bluish gray when _Ironclip_ landed on the shores of the largest Island of Morstur. Berwald personally came to Emil’s cabin and told them of their arrival. “We’re here,” he said plain and simple. That urged the prince and his companion to gather their belongings and make leave of this place. Since the kraken attack, the supplies had run low, and the deckhands had been in weary spirits. Emil’s own cabin had been bashed and battered. The prince could only be glad that he had managed to recover all of his old gifts from his coming of age day, Mathias’ knife included. He had kept his possessions close to him since the incident, his Altorienese companion most of all.

Leon followed Emil outside wherein they finally saw the wreckage that the sea monster had done two days prior. The mast was bent, and the railings cracked and chipped away. Bloodstains of an unusual brownish black color lay staining the ship’s once magnificent ferroak lacquer. Some deckhands were unloading supplies, while the apothecary took medicines to tend the rest of the men’s wounds. Those who were able to help man the ship were far and few between; most of them had sustained injuries from the attack, some losing their lives altogether.

Some words were exchanged between the prince and the captain. Of them, Leon chose not to pay attention. He, instead, focused his sights on the grand green island that lay spread before him. He had been told that the lands beyond the Blizzarding Seas were harsh and cold, but in his mind, he had imagined a block of ice and stone. He was pleasantly surprised to find some greenery here. Emil had told him that there was a mountain of fire on this island, but he had not known its heat would have warmed the entirety of the land. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all, coming to this lonely little rock.

“…Thank you so much for everything, Captain Harlan,” the prince bowed and led Leon away from the ship. A long stretch of wooden boards led to a simple dock, nothing as wide or grand as anything back at the kingdom’s capital. There were a handful of men in gray capes and furs waiting for the arriving party, one with a beard, one who was balding, and one who looked void of virtually any interest.

“Lord Emil, welcome home,” said the man with a long pale blonde beard. Behind him was a convoy of small horses. Leon noticed how pleasantly cute they looked: short with a thick coat of what looked like fur and a lovely crop of mane that draped over their eyes. These must have been the ponies that Emil had told him about with such pride. If everything that came from the Islands of Morstur was as adorable, he wondered if Emil’s meekness had been just as inherent as well.

“Thank you for having me back, sirs,” the prince said to the man. They listened as the men exchanged words with Berwald and Tino, talking of their attack from the kraken. The men’s faces grew grim.

“We haven’t been attacked like that for years,” the balding one said with a trace of concern. “Not since Lord Emil last gave his leave.” The prince lowered his head in silent shame.

“Wasn’t a total loss,” said Berwald, “but we’re gonna need some extra time to recover.”

“Understood. Lord Sveinn will speak with you further on the matter. We shall take you to him.” At the sound of his father’s name, Leon caught the prince stiffening. He had not been told too much of the man, but Leon did not think he was entirely amicable. Emil talked about his brother and the Sun King to great lengths and with admiration; he even had good things to say about Tino and Berwald. The same had not been heard about his father.

 _Guess we’re about to find out what sort of man he is._ He watched the men mount their horses and gesture to three other ponies with no riders. Leon studied the confusion on Emil’s face and the short exchange between Berwald and Tino. All looked to Leon afterward. _Oh great._

“I’m sorry, sirs, but my pet doesn’t know how ride.”

The men looked at the Altorinese with stony expressions. They had not taken part in the Sunset War as the rest of the mainlanders had, but they harbored little love for the fallen eastern empire. “Your pet can walk,” said the balding one. “We’ve only three spare horses, anyway.”

“A dog walks beside his master,” the disinterested one added. “Your pet may do the same.”

 _And so it begins._ Leon had known his peace in a foreign kingdom would not last forever. He had been under the protection and pretext of being his master’s coddled pet once upon a time ago. Here, however, they were in different waters. The Shadow could not protect Emil anymore, and Emil’s reach extended under his father’s. He needed to be careful.

“I…” The prince looked to him with pitiful eyes. It mattered not, anyway. Leon did not know how to ride, so the slight was not as effective on him. “I’ll have him walk.” The prince went to him. “Leon, can you—? No, follow me while we ride, and don’t get lost, alright?”

“Yes, Master.” Good, Leon thought. He was trying to act assertive. If he did not demand respect from his pet, he would certainly not get it from his people.

Staying on the convoy’s heels was not difficult; the ponies had a distinct walk that made their rides smooth, but the riders were careful to go slow in their current company. Leon cared not for the conversations of crusty old Crodinians. He kept looking at the scenery, fascinated by every corner of it. There was green as far as the eye could see and a delicate fog that wrapped the land like spider’s silk. Black sand coated the beaches; volcanic soil was responsible for that, Emil had told him. There were strange rock formations of perfect geometry and short funny flowers he had never seen on the mainland. Waterfalls flowed freely and frequently down cascading hills and modest mountains alike. The birds overhead were different, too, some of them wearing black and white colors of the panda bears that lived in Altorien. Puffins, he knew; Emil had a stuffed one sitting on one of his shelves back at the castle. Like his youthful innocence, he had left it behind. Leon wondered if they would ever return to Markal.

He had not known what to expect when they reached House Steilsson. He was not expecting a grand castle like in Markal by any means, but when they rode over the hills and passed the little farms and villages, it was by far the most underwhelming piece of architecture Leon had laid eyes on. House Steilsson was a two-story fortress of stone and greenery. Moss and tungrass flourished within the bricks, making the building blend almost perfectly in with the greenery. There was a scant provision of windows and banners behind a narrow stone wall that made the building recognizable, a single archway that led into the center, and two mirroring spires on the sides. When they passed through the archway, Leon felt a dozen eyes boring into his skull. They were watching him. They always were. Here, especially, he was vulnerable. Stablehands and maids stopped what they were doing and stared. A few children looked their way. Leon did not know if they were more fixated on their returning young prince or on him, but he knew either way he would have to get used to this.

“We’ve arrived,” the bearded one said when they dismounted. “Your father’s waiting inside.”

“Thank you for escorting me, sirs,” the prince bowed, taking his leave. “Leon, to me.”

Leon went close to Emil’s side, glad to be within proximity of his company. The air had a nasty bite to it, though it smelled so pastoral and clean. Fortunately, when they passed through the main doors, the air instantly grew comfortable, a warming spell, perhaps. _So they have them here, too._ The interior decoration was not any more impressive than the outside. The walls were not decorated with banners or paintings as the capital, and the residents were grim and solitary like Emil was on a natural basis. The grounds were covered with a plain brown carpet instead of a regal plush velvet or smooth stone, and something in the air smelled like straw. It was almost like an overly grand barn, Leon thought. He had not prepared himself to be as comfortable as he had been in Markal, but this was honestly something almost pitiable. He wondered if Emil thought the same as he did. Had House Steilsson appeared grander to him when he was a child? Or had he always known how humble his house was in comparison to everyone else's?

Suddenly, Leon felt something wrap around his hand. Emil had taken ahold of him and gave a squeeze. Leon squeezed back, offering silent support. When they entered through a set of double doors, a long chamber was stretched out before them. It looked like the royal dining hall in the capital, rafters, pillars, and all. However, this place also looked like it could be the dining hall, hearing room, and ballroom all in one. Knowing how modest the rest of the house was, Leon would not be surprised if this was the case.

A middle-aged man with pale curled blonde hair and deep blue, almost indigo, eyes sat in a tall wooden chair at the end of the long hall. There were two mirroring serpentine dragons carved into the chair’s headrest. The man wore a cape with black furs and silver trimming all along his vest and cuffs. His eyes and face reflected years of lording and delegation. He also carried with him the knowledge of his family’s curse and his son’s long-held burden. His voice was deep but smooth. “Welcome home, Emil.”

The room was so quiet, Leon could hear his dear prince swallow. “Thank you for having me back, Father.”

“I hope your time in Markal was good.”

“It was, Father.”

“No doubt you’ve learned from the wisest scholars and witnessed the greatest tourneys knights could have to offer. Have you anything to bring back to your old home?”

“Myself.” The modest prince placed his free hand over his heart. “And Leon.”

The man that was Sveinn Steilsson nodded. “Your brother wrote of him. He’s been good to you?”

“Yes.” The prince bowed his head. A screaming silence filled the room. Leon wished one of them would speak words of dismissal and have them be done with this. He wanted to leave, and he had a feeling Emil did, too.

“M’lord,” Berwald at last spoke in his low voice, “there was a kraken attack at sea two days ago to our ship. I ask thatcha give us some time to mend our losses ‘fore we return to Kvaran.”

Sveinn nodded. “Take as long as you need, Count Oxenstierna. You as well, Margrave Väinämöinen.” Tino smiled brightly to his invitation.

“Lord Father,” the prince spoke up, “where is Mother? I’d like to see her.”

“She should be in the temple; she prays there in her spare time. You may see her at supper. First, you should unpack your possessions.”

“Yes, of course.” The prince took his eager leave with a bow, Leon doing the same. He went in a certain direction, leaving Berwald and Tino behind to whatever affairs they wanted to handle.

They did not say anything until the prince took him to their room. It was up the stairs and somewhere towards the far east, not even in a corner or within its own separate spire. There were two rooms on both sides of Emil’s, and both looked to be common spaces.

“Here we are,” Emil said with bated breath. He grabbed the door handle and pushed inward, the wooden door giving way with a low groan.

Like the rest of the house, the room was plain yet comely. There were no shelves of storybooks or novels, colorful lamps or stones, or piles of parchment and ink for practiced writing and letters; rather, there was a table with an empty clay vase and a plush chair. The stone floor was covered in a rug woven with blue and white threads, and the curtains were a light woolen blue, the same shade as the Steilsson banner. A bed fit for a grown boy, barely long enough to house Emil’s adult body, sat in the corner against a wall, the wooden frames simple and old. The ceiling hosted a chandelier fit for two glowstones, and across and to the side wall was a dresser and a wardrobe. The entirety of the space could have been no more impressive than a common Crodinian boarding room in the capital city, Markal.

“Welcome to House Steilsson,” Emil exhaled. He threw down his satchel and sat upon the bed to test its strength. It creaked mournfully under his weight, and he gave a worried frown. “Huh. Didn’t do that when I was a kid. I suppose I've gained some weight over the past twelve years.”

Leon scanned the floor some more. “It’s small. Where do you suppose I’m sleeping?”

“If the gods are good, you’ll sleep with me.” Emil scrunched his face. “If not, my father might have you sleep in the kennels with all the other animals.”

“Great. Maybe they won’t taste as fishy.”

“Leon, listen to me!” Emil snapped with a hushed voice and more fright than embarrassment. “This isn’t a laughing manner! I should have spoken with you before we arrived, but it’s too late now. We’re not on the Eliatha mainland anymore. This is _Morstur_. The gods’ blessings work differently here, and so do its people. You need to keep your head low. You can’t let anyone outside of the immediate lords know how fluent you are in Crodinian. You can’t let _anyone_ know about our relationship.” He went to him and cupped his hands around his jaws. “Please, I don’t want to lose you, too. I’ve lost so much already, so please, I beg of you, don’t squander this.”

_What of the gods’ blessings? They’ve never done anything for me._ Leon took his hands and kissed them, feeling the cold metal of his old master’s ring as he did so. He moved to Emil’s lips and kissed those, too. “I promise I’ll behave.” 

Emil’s eyes were full of worry. He was afraid, Leon knew. “You’re alright with becoming my pet again?”

“I’ve always been chained to you one way or another,” Leon partially joked. “This won’t be any different, Your Highness.”

“Alright,” he sighed with a heavy heart. “If that’s all well and understood…Here. Let me do this for you first.” With a mumble of words, he brought forth his cursed white flames and cast them over Leon’s reddish brown stumps. He felt his fingers stop stinging with pain and felt a warm relief flood his body like a well-needed sigh.

“Thank you,” he breathed with a smile. “I almost forgot about that.”

Emil smiled back. “Let’s unpack, and then I’ll show you around the house. If we see Berwald, I’ll need to find a chance to heal him, too.”

They arranged their possessions around Emil’s room first. Sometime later, a team of servants came bearing boxes that contained larger belongings: books, clothes, lamps, trinkets, and furniture. Emil recited a reversing spell that unshrank his belongings and moved them around his chambers with Leon’s assistance. After what must have been an hour, the room was on its way to looking more personable.

“It’s not much, but it’s home again.” Emil ran his fingers along the spines of his storybooks and novels that now lay on his bookshelf from Markal. He brought a wardrobe, too, which now contained a decent collection of clothes. Leon noticed how he had packed heavier sets and wondered if he would need a new change of wardrobe now that they were in colder lands. “Leon, here, I’ll give you this.” Emil took a heavy cloak from his hanger and gave it to him. “The house is warm enough, but it’s honestly one of the only buildings equipped with warming spells on the island. Everywhere else is at the mercy of the elements.” He bit his lower lip. “I should’ve commissioned more clothes for you before we came here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Leon lied, draping the cape over his shoulders. It weighed down on him like a small child clinging to his back, but he would have to make do. In truth, he cared little for the cold climates of Crodinia. If there was one thing he had not gotten used to since moving west, it was the chilled winds and lack of sun that made him occasionally long for Altorien’s old weather.

Emil first showed him around the second floor, his memory impressive even to himself. “Father and Mother’s room should be at the end of the west wing. It’s the spire that you saw when coming in. The east wing spire holds a weathermage observatory. The rest of these rooms are appropriated for whatever use we have for them. I can’t believe I remember this all…There’s a small study in the center, and the kitchen’s downstairs. I’ll show that to you.” The second floor done, they moved downstairs to the first. “Meals are eaten in the grand hall—that’s where we met Father. We eat breakfast and supper-dinner there. There are no in-between meals because of the low supplies of food. The grand hall is also where hearings and large events take place. Whenever we have holidays or festivals, we clear the tables and chairs out and invite the island residents over.”

Leon then followed Emil outside and around the back. There were stables not too far away and kennels where hunting dogs were kept. Leon did not know what sorts of animals would be out here for hunting.

“Stables house the Morstur ponies,” Emil said, pointing to a collection of small horses with thick coats. “Kennels are here, livestock in the barn…Don’t come here without me. The greenhouses are this way…” He walked over to the farthest end of the walled house that rested against the elevated walkway. A row of glass houses rested with stones hanging from the metal rafters inside. Edible plants were growing in beds of black soil. “We keep our personal stock of produce growing here. The gardeners tend to them. This way, we can eat year-round when hunting and fishing aren’t good.”

They went around the back where a separate gate to the outside went. Behind that was a path into a small forest with evergreen trees and the fresh smell of mint. Jagged wooden poles surrounding the path on both sides like a fence. Leon thought he could hear the sound of roaring water from a distance.

“That path leads to the hot springs,” Emil said with a smile at last. “It’s a small walk into the forest and from there, you can’t miss it. We keep the trees uncut here, so they provide some shelter from the wind. Everyone bathes in there; there’s no hierarchy or segregation here, so you won’t have to worry about going in with me. I’ll probably take you there tonight.”

Leon would have opened his mouth to ask how there was hot water here, but he remembered his position. He was not supposed to know how to speak much Crodinian.

Their tour finished at the front of the house below the arches. There was a single guard positioned at the front. He had no armor, only a pointed spear that had seen better days. It did not seem that there was much to defend, anyway. “We took the road that leads to the docks,” Emil pointed out to the narrow and natural road they had come through. “If you remember, there was a sign and fork a little ways back. The other path goes to the town. It’s the only one on this side of the island. If we go into town and go out the other end, we can go to Eldur Mountain—that’s the volcano. And, over here…”

Emil led him last to a trodden path that was more narrow than the others they had crossed. Outside of the stone walls and around to the west was a large temple made into a triangular prism, not far off from the structure of the temple back in Markal.

“Here’s the temple that houses worship to The Nine Divine. There are separate shrines in homes and a smaller temple in town, but this is the only main one on the islands.” He took Leon’s hand. “Father said Mother was in there. Perhaps she’s still there, now?” He swallowed, giving a glance in his direction. “I should give my prayers, since we’re here.”

They walked hand in hand to the temple. Inside, there was a shallow warmth, not as inviting as House Steilsson, but enough so that Leon did not feel the outside’s biting chill. The statues were not as elaborate or large as the ones in the capital, but they were fashioned of similar themes and given similar offerings. Leon noticed that the statues were not exactly the same as they had been in the other temple. He could recognize which statues represented which gods were now. The one that looked like a half man and half eagle was The Valiant, but it was more eagle than man. The gentle-faced one that was sculpted into a lamb with soft features of a woman was The Fair. The one with a cat’s face and reptilian body was The Venturous, and so forth.

By the time Emil finished praying to The Ruined, Leon was able to look upon the statue of The Everlasting. Here, it was more defined than ever, and he could recognize the body structure of the true Everlasting in its design. The triangular snout belonged to that of a western dragon, and its long slender body bore soft feathers and two pairs of wings. The feathers faded into scales when they met the end of its long tail. The god had benevolent and watchful eyes. Medicines and ointments were at its feet in offering. Above it, a large bronze bowl containing a white flame burned above, bathing it in a holy light.

“…her good health,” Emil’s prayer finished. He unclasped his hands and stood. “Let’s go,” he said to Leon, leading him out. It did not seem that his mother was here.

They returned to their room as Emil prepared them for supper. He wore a simple but presentable doublet with deep blues, dark brown breeches, and black boots. To Leon, he gave him a mirroring outfit but with a rich mahogany with notes of reddish purple. He fixed Leon’s hair that needed no fashioning and cursed his own unkemptness. “Why is it that your hair is so much better than mine?” he grumbled as he studied himself in the mirror. He tried matting it down with some wet soap, but sprigs still sprung like fresh grass.

“Altorienese have always been like that,” Leon said with a bemused smile. “We’ve got hair like black silk. The blacker the better.”

Having given up, Emil looked at him again. There was an unusual look in his eyes, like a bird who had found something new and shiny. “When have you…? Have you always looked like that?”

“Like what?” Leon asked unknowing.

“I…” the prince sighed. “I chose you because I thought you were the most exotic of the bunch, but even when I did, I don’t remember you being this…” His voice trailed off as the color ran to his cheeks. He gently slapped them as if it would make his skin pale again.

“This what?” Leon prodded.

Emil turned from him. “…this pretty…”

Leon’s heart fluttered. “Oh ho, does that mean you’ve fallen completely for me?”

“What’re you blabbing on about?” an irritated voice muttered from Emil’s turned backside.

“Some say that when you’ve found true love, you only have eyes for that person. Does that mean you’ve seen past my flaws and found me beautiful?”

“No, I don’t even know what your flaws are,” Emil spat with uncertainty and bashfulness. "The darkness aside, I mean, but I just never noticed how…what even is the word…? Feminine you looked? And you’re taller than me. This is all sorts of wrong.”

Leon blinked. “What’s wrong about the way I look?”

“I don’t know!” Emil hissed, scratching angrily at his head until his hair became tangled again. He cursed himself for his carelessness. Leon would have laughed had they been more alone. “It’s like, you _glow_ , Leon. You don’t belong here. I mean, of course you don’t, but as in you seem more above us. Contemptuous? Smug? It’s hard to describe…” He furiously shook his head, more of his silvery bangs falling out of place. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

It was hard to forget such a compliment. Leon was filled with mirth at the thought of Emil calling him pretty. He liked that. He looked into the mirror and studied his features. He had never found the time to look at himself clearly for most of his life. He had been born into a world devoid of mirrors and looking glass. There had not been any need for such tools. He had seen his reflection in the water from time to time, but the waters had never been still. There had always been ripples, rings branching outward and forever.

 _I’m pretty_. He pinched one of his bangs and let it fall over his golden eyes. It was still styled in the way that _he_ had groomed it. His face was long, but not so long that it would be considered a horse face. It was slender and pale with refined features like a woman’s, but his jaw was slightly broad that indicated a hint of masculinity. His shoulders were teetering between being broad and petite, and his overall height had grown more pronounced, as did his posture. He knew there was a word for this in Crodinian. Andy…Andro…? Androgynous, he finally remembered. What a strange word. Had this been why he had been preferred by so many? He shuddered, a stone rolling in his stomach. Even if that were so, it had also been why Emil had chosen him. He had to appreciate that aspect of it.

“Leon, we should go down for supper.”

Leon followed the prince to the grand hall for supper. His stomach growled at the prospect of eating something other than watered oats, putrid fish preserves, and greasy ale. When passing through the doors, a small murmur of men and women chatted with one another. Most of the noise was made by knives and forks clinking, however. There was a seat reserved close to the front of a long rectangular table for Emil. Leon braced himself when he saw there was nothing for him.

At the head of the far end was Sveinn, of course, and to his other side across from the empty chair was a woman with the palest complexion Leon had ever seen. The color of her skin would make even the most beautiful of Altorienese envious. Her hair was like spider’s silk with a tinge of blonde that shimmered in the candlelight like golden stars, and her eyes were a soft color of glassy blue. Leon’s blood ran cold. This must have been the Shadow and Emil’s mother, Gerda Steilsson, formerly Bondevik.

“Leon, sit,” the prince ordered him with a hushed voice, pointing to the wooden pillar behind him. Leon promptly sat with his legs tucked into his chest so as not to trip anyone walking through. The ground was warm, so that was some comfort. He was glad that no one really paid him any mind. Even Sveinn did not so much as look his way. Among the chatter, however, he could not hear what the prince and the others were talking about. If he listened closely, he could make out the sound of a gentle woman, perhaps the prince’s mother. Her voice was as smooth as her silken hair, and she boasted a delicate laugh like crystal bells. Leon writhed in discomfort.

Sometime into supper, Emil gave Leon a helping of food. On his plate were boiled roots, a strange square cut of what looked like sausage, bread with a generous helping of butter, and an honest helping of smoked meat—lamb from what Emil had tutored him of Morstur’s geography. Leon ate all of it, lacking in flavor though his meal was. It could not compare to the delicacies he had in Markal. _So much for food fit for a king._ He could not complain, though. As before, he had a roof over his head and food in his belly. Someone at that table loved him, so he was grateful. He did not need any blessings from the gods for that.

When everyone had their fill, Sveinn rose from his seat, and the hall quieted down. “We’re gathered here today to welcome the return of my son and future lord of House Steilsson. Emil?”

Leon watched his former master rise from his seat and look to the people of his old home. “Thank you for having me back, everyone. My time in the capital was gracious to me, and I’ve learned all manners of policies and disciplines there. I hope my knowledge and influence will help lead our land to prosperous times. Nine blessings to the Islands of Morstur.”

“Nine blessings,” the hall echoed, mugs raising and people drinking. Leon heard Sveinn say something to his son, from his lighter tone a compliment. The rest of the evening went on like this, some starting to cozy up to their young lord-to-be returning. More sociable men asked the prince of his experience in Markal, to which he shared stories of his youth and descriptions of the castles and towns.

 _Most of these people never leave_ , Leon realized. Emil had been a unique case, being that if he had stayed in Morstur, he would have been shut away, never to see the world, just as his ancestors had been. The Shadow had been too good to Emil.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the tables cleared and the audience scattered and dissolved with the empty plates and flagons. The prince remained with his mother and father, chatting softly until Leon heard his name.

“I should introduce you now that everyone’s gone.” Emil scooted from his chair and turned. “Leon, can you let my mother see you?”

Leon reluctantly rose, though he curious to see what sort of person Gerda was. When he looked across the table, he saw her smiling with vacant eyes. She was not looking directly at him. She was not even looking at her son. It was though she was looking at a ghost. _You should be looking at me, then, woman._

“You must be Leon, the one Lukas wrote about.” The lady of House Steilsson extended her hand out across the table. Emil, unsure of what to do, moved away so Leon could take it. With some trepidation, Leon allowed her to feel his touch. Her hand was like ice in spite of the warmth of the hall, fitting for someone so pale. “I’m Gerda Steilsson, Lukas and Emil’s mother. My sons have told me you’ve been good to them. I’m eternally grateful. Thank you for being such wonderful company.”

Leon did not know if he was supposed to speak. He managed a choppy “Thank you,” before gratefully releasing her hand.

“When the time’s right, I was thinking of taking Leon to Eldur Mountain, Father,” the prince looked to Lord Steilsson. “Would that be alright with you?”

“The mountain’s a three-day ride and hike one way. Will you be able to manage it in your condition?” If he was concerned, the high lord of the Staven province did not show it on his face.

“I’ll be fine. It’s something I’ll have to do eventually.”

Sveinn’s eyes were hard, but they held a different coldness than someone like Berwald, Leon observed. There was a certain strain or tiredness to his gaze, one that could have only belonged to a father with two troubled sons. “When you think you’re prepared, I’ll have a mount and supplies readied for you.” He looked Leon’s way. “You're certain you want to take your pet with you?”

“Yes, he’s been a good guard to me.” The prince swallowed. “Is that alright with you, Mother?”

"Of course. I have complete faith in you," she replied. Leon watched Gerda hold out both her hands, slightly wavering like she was searching for something. It was like watching a child trying to take back a lost toy. “Emil, come closer to me, child? It’s been so long since I’ve held you.”

Reluctantly, Emil went to her and let her hands feel him. She did not hug him as Leon thought she would, instead running her fingers over his hair and face, testing the broadness of his shoulders and feeling for his height. Leon’s stomach had a pit.

“You’ve grown so much,” Gerda smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Emil said with a tight voice.

“And Leon?” Gerda did not move her eyes away. “I want to see him, too.”

“Leon?” Emil called.

Leon walked around the table and over to her and presented himself to her front. Now that she was close, he could see her details more closely. She was beautiful and fair, he thought, possibly blessed by the very god of fairness and virtue, itself. Her slight wrinkles and sunken eyes betrayed her age, and her wrists were thin and bony like a lonely ghost. Her eyes, Leon saw, were always unblinking. Even as she ran her fingers along his face and felt his side bangs, she looked straight ahead, not even at him. It was as Leon had thought. He almost felt pity beneath his prickled exterior.

“You…” she breathed. “Please watch over my son. Cherish and protect him where I could not.”

“I will,” Leon shortly said, glad that she finally moved herself away from him. Even when it seemed so long ago, he could not shake his unease. He wondered if his blood had tempered itself after all. 

“Emil, have you gone to the temple, already?” his mother asked, leaning an ear to her son.

“Yes, Mother.”

She smiled. “I pray to them every day that you might grow up to be a fine lord. I feel so blessed to have such wonderful sons. If only I had the chance to see it all.”

The prince pressed his lips together and forced a smile, though his reassurance was beyond her sight. “You won’t have to worry, Mother. I’m here to stay. I’ll continue to make you proud as Lukas has done. I promise you that.” Leon looked to the odd family for clues, but he found none where the Steilssons exchanged silent glances.

It was Sveinn who finally gave them their leave. Emil took Leon first back to his room so they could prepare for their bath, seemingly glad that the first ordeal had been crossed. Leon spoke first, as he folded his sleeping wear and cloak into a bundle. “I didn’t know your mother was blind.”

Emil flinched. “She wasn’t when I left. She never made mention of it in her letters. I-I don’t understand. Her handwriting was always the same. That had to mean she had someone else write her notes. She didn’t want us to worry. I don’t even know if Lukas knows.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “I don’t get it. Why don’t you just, like, use your cold fire on her?” The young lord-to-be shook his head hopelessly. When he refused to answer right away, Leon's speculations became concrete knowledge. "She doesn't know..."

“She wouldn't ask for my help, even if she did, knowing her. She's not of the immediate blood-bearing lines, so she was not permitted to know. To my brother and Lukas' families, she would be an extra loose end to tie up." He thinned his lips until they were as white as his hair. "Part of me almost thinks she may have known about Lukas at some point, but...his family's always excelled at the dark arts. Her memory may have been erased before. Lukas wouldn't have told me."

"Emil..."

"Lukas was always careful raising me. My father more so. They hid their curses away, too, until I was old enough to understand what I was." His throat trilled like a nervous sparrow. "There's nothing I can do, Leon. You should know that. But Mother...I was afraid of this…Her health was deteriorating when I last saw her, and now I’m too late. She never told me...This is so unfair.” His voice was but a whisper. "I bear inside me the god of health and preservation, yet I can protect my own mother. What good is a god who can't help its people?"

Leon had an idea, but he dared not say it to the vessel's face. 

Emil sighed in hopes that it would release some of his bottled worries. “She’s always been delicate, my mother. Even as a young girl, I was told she was faint of heart. Everything she did was delicate, everything she touched was delicate. She made everything fragile in her presence. It must have been why Lukas’ father was attracted to her so much.”

“Then, does she know about Lukas’ suffering? Blood bearer aside?”

Emil wore a scrunched face. “She’s a devoted believer of The Nine Divine. She may believe our existences have a role among the gods at best, but I don't believe she knows anything about our blood.” He caught himself. “Please don’t think that’s cruel of her to live in such ignorance. She loves us very much. I love her, too. It's simply...something like our situation doesn’t happen very often.”

 _So this isn’t the first time The Everlasting’s vessel had a blood-bearing sibling?_ “But that doesn’t mean you can’t help her,” Leon said.

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” Emil suddenly snapped as the weight of it all finally pressed down on him. “I don’t want her to be blind any more than her other loved ones, but all this time, when she could have gone to Markal for help or lived with us in better weather to be with her sons, she chose to stay here. She doesn’t want our help, so we chose not to give it to her.” His hands were shaking. “I won’t lie and say I understand her, but we can’t help her if she doesn’t choose to help herself. It hurts, Leon. I don’t want it to be this way, either.”

Leon held him. He let Emil’s emotions pour to him in his loving embrace. Emil took him in turn, letting himself be rocked for a moment before they needed to part. “It seems apologizing is all I can do these days,” Leon said with a sympathetic smile.

“You don’t even need to do that,” Emil responded in quiet. “You’re here. Even after I freed you…You don’t know how much that means to me, Leon.”

“C’mon, give me some credit,” Leon smiled in spite of himself. “My journey hasn’t exactly been a stroll in the garden. I’m glad I’m here, too.” Emil smiled back.

They walked outside of the estate to the hot springs, a low glow of blue glowstones illuminating the path around the back. Leon could see the sky clearly now. There was a surreal glow of orange and deep blues in the skies. Some stars shimmered in the clean, crisp heavens.

“A-Ah…Wha—?” He clamped his mouth shut, nearly forgetting his place.

Fortunately Emil knew what he was pointing to. “The sun’s going to be up for long periods of time,” he said with a fond smile. “You can actually see it happening in other parts of Staven and Vesnïn. Here, however, because there are so few manmade lights, the so-called 'night' skies happen to be clearer here. Look.”

Leon saw those, too. The skies were littered with warm glows of sherbets and citrus fruit. The rolling clouds carried on the summer winds looked like a curtain of fire roaring through the plains of the heavens. “Pretty,” he breathed. He had never gotten a chance to see the skies like this in Altorien. There was little darkness during this time of year, too. He could have gotten used to this.

Emil agreed with his statement, and they went on their way down the path where a few other natives were walking the same way. From beyond the trees Leon could hear men and women talking and laughing. When the clearing broke through, he could see an expansive pool of steaming water surrounded by rocks and an ethereal blueish green light. Men and women, young and and, alike soaked in the waters, their pale faces flush with blood and their bodies beaded with sweat and steam. Leon even saw Tino and Berwald among the bathers, Berwald being unable to completely immerse his body without lying halfway down. His bandaged wounds were exposed at the torso. Tino was laughing about something, his spirits lively as ever. Berwald may have cracked a smile, but it was difficult to discern.

“Oh. Tino and Berwald are already here,” Emil noticed. “I suppose we should leave them to relax on their own. Here, Leon, we need to wash off first.” He started going over to a corner. He took Leon to a free space far from the other adults. There was a small steaming tub carved into the rocks, and some soap and a sponge for washing. He removed his robe and began cleaning himself, Leon copying him. When they were rinsed, he took him to a free spot where they could safely enter the water. Emil stepped in first, a hint of eagerness flushed in his face as he immersed his body. “Leon, come it! It’s warm!”

 _Yes, I’ll believe that._ Leon gingerly dipped his toes in the water, finding it to be piping hot, just barely under boiling. He gritted his teeth as he submerged himself and felt the heat rise from his feet, to his legs, to his torso, and to his face. By the gods, it _was_ warm—too warm. His chest seemed to convulse from the heat, and his head felt faint and dizzy. But he had to admit, it did feel good to sit. After their long journey, they were at last able to clean themselves and have a nice moment. He closed his eyes and let his head hang back. There was a certain peace to this lonely place. The quietness of it all, the bucolic expanse that surrounded the island, the frigid waters that barred them from the rest of the world, it was all so perfect in its isolation.

Even when Emil spoke, his voice had calmed. “The water comes from Eldur Mountain’s veins beneath the earth. Thermal vents rise from the ground to heat up pools of water that constantly flow from the icy mountaintops. That and coupled with the minerals and algae give the water this color. It’s supposed to be good for you to soak every now and then. Do you feel good, Leon?”

“I do,” Leon smiled. Now that his body had adjusted, he thought he could stay in here for at least an hour if his skin did not prune.

When they did get out, their bodies were weak and steaming from the heat stuck to their skin. Emil’s pale face was flushed pink, and he said the same of Leon’s normally light yellow skin. They washed themselves again and dried off, changing into their evening clothes. Here in House Steilsson, no one seemed to mind that the prince was walking around in his sleepwear.

“Berwald!” Emil called to the count when he caught him also drying off.

“His Highness is well?” Berwald asked.

“Yes, thank you. Listen, I was wondering if you wanted me to, you know…Your wounds.”

The towering sentinel looked to the place where he once had a bloody gash rip open his torso. The cleaned bandages wrapped around his bare body were covered with sallfish oil to keep water from intruding into his wounds. “No,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

Emil’s eyes wavered. “Please, Berwald, it’s the least I can do. No matter of medicine will be able to fix this.”

The count stood fast. “Don’t owe me a thing. Wouldn’t feel right if ya needed t’ help me.”

“Berwald!” Tino, who was behind him, placed his hands on his stocky hips. “Listen to yourself! You’re the Count of Vesnïn! If something happened to you, and it got worse because your pride got in the way, how do you think that’s going to make everyone feel? How do you think _I’m_ going to feel?”

To his voice, Leon detected a glimmer of emotion stemming from Berwald’s eyes, and not because of his new spectacles. He was silent for a couple of seconds before he returned his attention to Emil. “When the sun’s at its lowest point, I’ll be in the second room from the east wing.”

“The guest room,” Emil breathed in relief. “I’ll be there, Berwald.” Tino looked relieved, too.

The two high lords having departed to check on the state of _Ironclip_ ’s crew, Emil and Leon filled the time by taking one last walk around the house grounds. “Hah, I wish we could have had some cider or cakes,” Emil wistfully sighed as he stretched his body. He took his time walking back through the grove. His skin still steamed with light wisps in the cool air. “Are you feeling alright, Leon? Not too faint?”

“I’m fine,” he said. He was somewhat dizzy, having spent too long in the heat, but he did not want Emil to know. If his dizziness persisted, he could always ask to have cold fire administered to his head. He did feel better, though, after soaking in the hot spring. Joints that had been cramped from sitting too long were loose and his chest felt lighter as he took in the Morsturic air.

When the sun managed to hide away behind a mountain, Emil instructed Leon to remain in his room. He went off to find Berwald and administer his cold fire. He had an eased look about him when he returned. “He’s usually so easygoing about everything else, but when it comes to himself, he can get unbelievably stubborn.” He shortly laughed. “Just like Mathias. I wonder how he and Lukas are doing…”

Leon went to him and stroked his cheek. “They’re stronger than they look. I’m sure they’re fine.”

Both of them were exhausted upon reaching settling down in Emil’s room, however. Their eyelids grew heavy and their breaths long and labored. It was the first time in three days since being able to sleep on solid ground. Gone were the odd lulls of rocking back and forth, wood creaking, and the sea roaring. Quiet and stillness had fallen over them.

A stack of blankets sat on Emil’s bed that he now placed on the ground. He allowed Leon to rearrange them however he liked for sleeping. Emil shut his curtains to block out any intruding sunlight. When they were both tucked in, Emil rolled to him before dimming his glowstone lamp.

“Leon, are you still awake?”

“I am.”

“How are you feeling so far?”

“Weird to sleep during the day. But otherwise, I'm good. I’m with you, after all.” If Emil was blushing, he could not see it.

“Alright, that’s good, I suppose. Er, but never mind that. Did you hear about what Father and I were talking about during dinner?”

“Something about Eldur Mountain?”

“Right. It’s the volcano that sits on the other side of this island. All lords and vessels go there at least once in their lifetime. I want you to go with me when the time comes.”

Leon took in a breath of air. The room smelled faintly of straw, perhaps the result of being so close to the stables. Something about it felt familiar, though he had not been in this room for more than an hour at best. “Sure, I’ll go with you. It’s not like I can do anything else while you’re gone. And it was three days of hiking?”

“Three days riding and hiking there, three days hiking and riding back,” Emil said. “We’ll be gone for six days.”

“That’s a bit, isn’t it?” Leon had been through worse, but he did not know if the prince could manage something like that. He had barely gotten through the mainland journey through the carriage, and to ride and walk would require his full attention.

“All of the vessels before me have done it in their frail states,” Emil insisted. “I should be able to do it, too. And besides, it won’t be hard if I have you there. We usually forbid traveling companions, but since everyone still thinks you’re my pet, you’ll be permitted to come.”

Leon smiled, glad that the prince placed so much faith into him. “I’ll do my best to protect you then, Your Lord Highness.”

“Please don’t call me that.” Emil was frowning. “I’m going to hear enough of that while I’m here. I don’t want to get used to it yet.”

Rolling over, Leon tucked his head into his covers and sniffed them. It was the same hay smell as the rest of the room. It was nothing like Emil’s sweet milky scent. “What happens now?”

“What do you mean? You mean going to Eldur Mountain?”

“No, after that.” Leon felt that he knew what he was talking about. “Do you just plan to live here for the rest of your days like the rest of them?”

Emil fell silent. He knew who Leon was referring to. His ancestors, all of them had lived out their lives in isolation and away from the world so they could continue to bless those who prayed to them. They did not have to tread on glass as Emil had done because the islands for the most part were a peaceful place. But this peace, as beautiful and calming as it was, had a distinct emptiness to it. Leon did not want that for the prince, but if he were to have it be so…

“I don’t know, Leon. The responsible thing for me to do is carry myself out as the high lord of Staven and House Steilsson, as I was raised to be. But…”

“But?”

Emil raised his right hand outward and gazed at the ring upon his finger. A blue tinge wrapped around its circumference. “All my life, I’ve known what was to be expected of me from the moment this ring was put on my finger until now. But now that I’m back here where I’m supposed to be, I feel empty. I don’t know why that is. My ancestors, the vessels before me, never had the chance to leave and see a part of the world they were supposed to protect, yet I did.

“And now that I’ve seen it, I almost find myself thinking this isn’t where I was destined to be. I know I’m _supposed_ to be here, yet…” His hand tightened to a fist. “…I’m afraid of being trapped here. It’s the ring that makes it so, but sometimes I wonder if I was not bound by my own self, could I have been something more, Leon? Have my ancestors wondered the same thing as I have? Did they want more as I have? Or is it me who’s in the wrong? I’m lost, Leon…I don’t know what I should think.”

Leon rose from his covers and went to Emil’s side. He brushed away his snow-white bangs and let the faint light shimmer in his eyes. “You told me you wished you were never born with The Everlasting and that the people you loved did not have to suffer because of you. What do you think you can do to make that come true?”

“Nothing, Leon.” He looked so hopeless. “I thought if I returned here, any silly hopes I would have had about becoming someone else would vanish away, but the thoughts still plague me. I still wish I was not born The Everlasting. I…I want to be free.”

“Oh, Emil…” Leon planted a kiss on his forehead. He studied the way Emil looked in the false nightly glow and found him so pure. “It’s not bad for you to wish that no more than it’s not bad for a peasant to wish he were a prince. Some things just aren’t meant to be. You may not be able to resist it, but maybe you can accept it.”

“Accept that this is all I’ll ever be…? That this is as far as I can go?”

“No, that you’re The Everlasting. Don’t fight it. That’s a part of you that you can’t take away. But just because that’s _what_ you are, that doesn’t mean it has to influence _who_ you are. I don’t love The Everlasting, Emil, I love _you._ I’m sure everyone else feels the same way.”

Emil flung his arms around him. He did not let go. “I can’t do this alone, Leon. I’m scared. It’s selfish of me to say when I know I’m not the only one who’s gone through this, but I don’t want to do this by myself.”

“It’s alright,” Leon hushed, holding him back. “I’ll support you with every fiber of my being. I won’t leave you alone.”

“Thank you…” Emil sighed in relief. He buried his face into Leon’s chest, breathing in his scent that had faded after their bath. As if searching for his familiar smell, he pulled away his garments and kissed his bare chest.

Leon stifled a gasp. He knew it was Emil doing this to him, the one he loved and would have let it be done to him, but it was too soon. He could not let Emil have him yet. “Emil…” He felt his petal-like lips move to his neck, nibbling with the tenderness of that of a curious fawn testing his courage. Now, Leon thought, and brought Emil’s lips to his. He sealed his courage with a kiss, his tongue daring to venture further. Emil let out a muffled moan and gave out under him, their lips departing. He was so fragile, Leon thought, and so precious.

“L-Leon,” Emil’s voice was weak but determined, “please, I want…”

“Me?” he knew with a lulled voice. His heart stirred at the desperation in his beloved’s lilac eyes, even more so when they sparkled. Steeling himself, he searched the covers and found Emil’s trembling legs. He removed the cloth around his waist, snaked between his thighs and massaged, finding him hard. He was becoming sensitive to his touch, a thought that flattered and excited him. “You’re ready for me. How thoughtful of you,” he smiled. He was salivating.

“No,” Emil softly wailed. “No, no, no. It’s always that. Why are you always—? Ah…!” He jolted when Leon carefully peeled at his skin until his head was naked and exposed. He placed a light kiss on his tip, running his tongue over his sensitive member. “Leon, no…” He did not listen. He kissed it some more, running from the end along the shaft to his base, admiring how white he was even down here, though he supposed it would only make sense if his hair and eyelashes were also the same color.

Leon ignored Emil’s protests and continued to work at him. He pumped him in ways he had learned to excite him, being sure to place each finger on a sensitive spot. He rubbed Emil’s inner thighs to stimulate him, to keep him anticipating his touch and begging for more. The more he begged, the more aroused he became. His smell was overpowering now. Leon recognized this scent. He was ready for him. Taking him into his mouth, he began to move. He closed his eyes and heard Emil’s stifled moans. He knew they had to be quiet, but sometimes he wished he could hear his cries in full volume as he had during their first time. Still, he moved, feeling him push deeper into his throat until he felt Emil’s thighs clench and his body seize. He pushed him as far as he could, feeling a gush of hot fluid pour down his throat. He kept his lips wrapped around him until he had completely passed and swallowed his remains. Emil was crying by the end of it.

“That’s not what I wanted…” he softly sobbed. “It’s you…You lied to me, Leon.”

He crawled to Emil, watching the tears bead at the corners of his eyes. “How have I lied to you, Emil?”

“You said you wouldn’t leave me alone, but you did.” Emil shut his eyes. Tears streamed down his face. “You took me and left me empty, and you wouldn’t give yourself to me even when I begged. You promised…”

“Oh.” Leon hissed and ran his thumb over the corner of Emil’s eye to wipe the tears away. “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I guess I got a little selfish.” He moved to kiss him when he felt hands push him away.

“What is the matter with you?” Emil whispered with a fierce tone. “Why do you insist on it always being like _that?_ Am I so delicate that you think I’m too good for you? I already told you I don’t care if you think you’re below me. I want it to be you!”

Leon sheepishly smirked. He was too adorable to be brutally honest with. “If we do that, you’re going to get sores, Everlasting or not. I’m pretty sure you’ve never had, like, ‘that’ done to you. It hurts, you know. It hurts to walk, hurts to sit. You need to prepare for it, too.”

Emil slowly calmed down, his face contrite. “O-Oh…I suppose…” He curled himself up into a ball and laid on his side. “You know, on Lukas and Mathias’ wedding night…My brother later confessed that he bled. They didn’t know what to do.” He folded his face in embarrassment of the details. “I don’t know what Lukas was thinking when he told me, but he did say it wasn’t easy. He had to learn from it. They had to use ointments and make sure they were clean before and after…But I don’t think I’d need to use anything. I can heal myself. I shouldn’t need to worry about bleeding.”

“It’s not that,” Leon found himself feeling flustered, despite knowing perfectly well the sorts of preparations that went into it. “I don’t think the time is right, Emil. It wouldn’t be right to give myself to you out of desire. You need to feel settled first.”

“Settled?” Emil muttered to himself. “What sort of nonsense is that?”

Leon let out a sigh, pulling the covers over the prince. “You’ll know when you feel it. I never was, and I wish I was. I want you to feel safe.”

“But I _am_ safe with you,” Emil insisted.

“No, it goes a little beyond that,” Leon chuckled. “Really, you’ll know it when you feel it. Or I will, anyway. Then, I’ll be ready, too. I’ll let you know, alright?”

Emil was definitely not satisfied with that. He was impatient, Leon could tell, but he had no choice but to accept that he could not force himself to have him. “Fine,” he grunted and shut his eyes. “Goodnight, Leon.”

Leon smirked. "Are you mad at me?" 

"I don't know," he heard a voice grumble beneath his covers. He could only have been pouting. 

"Mad enough that you'd have me sleep on the cold ground?" Leon used his best pining voice. 

He heard the prince's covers flip as he sat back up from his mattress. "It's not _that_ cold. There are warming spells working all around the house." 

"Come on Emil." Leon stared longingly into his beloved's lavender eyes. If looks could penetrate, Leon was confident he had succeeded with Emil, for he begrudgingly scooted back from his spot to make room for him. It was even smaller than it looked, now that he had rested himself next to Emil. They were almost nose to nose. It was almost insulting that the prince of Crodinia had to sleep in such modest conditions, but Leon convinced himself that they would be able to stay close to each other's side this way. 

"If I knew you'd grow into someone so cocky, I would have picked someone else as my gift," Emil muttered, trying his unimpressive best to shy away from Leon's overpowering gaze. Of course, he did not mean his words. He was a horrible liar. 

"You wound me, Your Lord Highness," Leon teased him, nevertheless. "Shall I return to the cruel freezing floor?" 

"No," Emil practically snapped. "Stay here. That's...an order."

Leon had to clamp his lips together to hold himself from laughing. "That was awful, I'm sorry. You've got a serious lot to learn before you're ready to take over your father's position."

"I know, I know." Emil sighed. "Will you help me?" 

"Hmm? With what?" 

"Growing. Learning. Making sure I stay on the right path." 

Leon chuckled outwardly this time. "A lord-god-prince would have, like, an Altorienese nobody help him stay on the path to righteousness?"

Emil's voice became somber. "I have no one else, Leon. My father may know who and what I am, but he doesn't _really_ know me anymore. Not the way you do, anyway. And..." He bit his bottom lip. "...I often get the feeling that he doesn't love me. That's cruel of me to think, isn't it?"

"No." He spoke from experience. "Besides, you didn't ask to be the vessel anymore than he did. If so, he'd be a terrible father, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose," Emil acknowledge, yet his eyes betrayed doubt. "I can't blame him for acting so coldly towards me. I only wish he could be proud of me or even say it." 

Leon brushed the prince's bangs aside and kissed his forehead. "Why do you care? Either way, you're going to be the next lord, and you've got a god in your body. You're already better than him without trying." 

"Am I, Leon?" He looked pensively at him, as though the comment had provoked a spark of inner accomplishment. Yet even if his achievements held merit, his humble nature prevented him from wholly basking in Leon's words. Leon wished he could rip his ring off his finger and whisk him away to better lands. 

For now, though, he saw no reason to dampen Emil's spirits so late into the sun-basked evening. "I think you've done things worthy of pride. You're kind and a good teacher. You know things about Eliatha's history I've never known. You put others first and want to make them happy. You're also cute even if you're trying to be mature." 

The prince furrowed his eyebrows and creased his lips into a frown. Though the curtains were drawn to block the sunlight, Leon could see his cheeks shining with a distinct red. He wanted to kiss them. _See, Emil? That you've made me fall for you is reason enough to be proud._ "Are you telling the truth when you're saying those things? You aren't trying to flatter me, or anything?" 

"Would I ever lie to you?" Leon dramatically responded. He earned an exasperated sigh from his beloved prince. 

"You have," he frowned. His eyes were not fixated on him. "Not just about letting me have you."

"Oh, have I?" 

"When you said you were an Altorienese nobody, you were lying. You're Leon. And you're mine." 

Leon brought himself to smile. "Silly me, you know me too well. You're right: my heart belongs to you." 

"I need to give you better prose to read..." Emil made a note aloud to himself before he turned over and closed his eyes. "Goodnight for real this time, Leon." 

"Sweet dreams, my prince." He listened for the steady rhythmic breathing of his beloved. When his breaths became long and heavy, he knew Emil had fallen asleep. He _was_ right. Such a fragile and foolish creature, yet it was undeniable that he harbored such intense feelings for him. He was ensnared. The feeling was something that he strangely thought of as instinctual. _I am Leon_. _I belong body and soul to you, dear Prince Emil. And you_ are _right: I am most certainly not a nobody._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nine Divine in this story are different than those of the Nine Divine in Tamriel mythology, for TES fans. (I initially wanted to call them the Divine Nine, but that name was being used for a different...thing. So I decided to adopt the traditional TES name, instead.) That said, their qualities and roles are unlike the gods of Tamriel where their traits and representations are very concrete. I won't say anymore than that for now!


	21. His Casing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil and Leon start a game. Then, they bid farewell to familiar faces and blend in with the new (and old). A conversation of a former ruler takes place.

One could hear the sound of wooden pieces clacking on a board and pages turning if all was still enough—which was easy enough to do when the population of the main island consisted of a mere handful of hundreds. Further still, one might hear the soft conversation of two young men talking in Crodinian of a capital kind, not uncommonly spoken in the heart of Markal. The young prince had taught his companion accordingly to the crown’s vocabulary and accent, though he, himself, sometimes let slip his native Morsturic accent.

Emil and Leon were playing a game of parley, a boardgame of wooden pieces set opposed to one another with a specific role assigned to each piece. The goal of the game was to outlast or outmatch the players’ opponent, given fifty maximum turns to defeat the other or defend themselves. The red player had fewer pieces than the blue, but it also had powerful pieces that could move further and take two turns to defeat each piece. The blue player, with more pieces, could arrange them defensively or strategically cast pieces out in an offensive attack.

There were two ways of winning parley. The first and more direct was to defeat the opposing king. Otherwise, if there were still pieces standing by the end of the fifty turns, whoever had the most points total was dubbed the winner. The red pieces each had a higher value of points, and the summation of each player’s total points was uneven—a point made by its original creator—and as such, there would always be a prevailing champion.Emil had never been so keen at the game, but his brother had played the game with an especially eager Mathias many times as children. As far as he knew, Lukas had never lost a single match.

He had stumbled across a board in the study, somewhere tucked in a snug corner of the strategy shelves of his house’s study, where he had pulled it out with curiosity at first, then elated nostalgia. He had offered to teach Leon how to play the game, so that they might pass the time when they could not find material to study or read. Leon had accepted his tutelage without protest.

“Bet you can’t guess what Mathias’ favorite color is,” Emil tugged at the side of his lips as he placed an archer down. He scribbled down his move and looked at his tally of points. He was still three points ahead of his opponent.

“It’s gotta be blue,” Leon sarcastically responded. “He looks like the kind of guy who likes to sit around.”

Emil snickered. “Leon, really?”

“Nah, I know it’s red. It’s gotta be.”

The prince cracked a smile. “You’re right. And he always lost. I watched some of their games, you know. My brother was great at both sides: offensive and defensive. He’d even set up his red pieces to cleverly hide or poke at his opponents’ pieces.” He sighed. “But that was before he went off to war. Since then, he’s never touched the game. I wonder if it’s because what he saw in real war couldn’t compare.”

“That’s for sure,” Leon agreed. He tested the waters by sending one of his warriors across the board’s river.

“Did you ever see one of the battles, Leon?”

A serious look fell over the Altorienese’s pondering face. “No. Only saw the aftermath. I was in a place far from the actual battles. It was only when the war was lost did we find out the emperor was dead and the empire defeated. That’s when they took us.”

“And imprisoned you?” Emil asked, thinking back on how Leon had made it to Crodinia in the first place.

“ _Imprisoned_ ,” Leon repeated with a bitter smile. “You could say that. But they had their fun first.” He gave pause. “There was a reason why you didn’t see any females in the dungeons that night you chose me.”

Emil’s throat seized in a discomforting knot. He wished he had not asked. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” said Leon dryly. “I tell myself it was better that it happened early on. What I’ve heard happening once the other kingdoms came in sounded worse.”

Crodinia had not played part in the secessions of Altorien. They had taken their share of resources and had left the rest of the land and its people to their allied kingdoms. Dotriba had taken a fair amount. Tabrini was not shy in its portion. Belethren had claimed most ports and major naval routes, rivaling those of Tabrinni where they took land. The rest had fallen victim to the unruly ravages of territories without kings. None dared venture too far south or north of Altorien, lest they must deal with Caliger or Arbren.

“Even so, I’m sorry,” was all the prince could manage for a time. He and Leon played their next rounds in silence before he chose to move his minstrel. “I never knew why there was a minstrel piece. He sounds so useless, you know? All he does is sing, can’t even attack.”

“Letting another piece move an extra turn sounds pretty amazing, I’d say,” Leon chuckled. “My pieces don’t even have a minstrel among them. Where did you say this game originated from again?”

“Somewhere in what’s now Dotriba, I figure.” Emil was not entirely certain. “But there is a myth that it was created in part with the aid of The Arcane, itself.”

Leon hummed in thought. “You’re saying the game’s been around for that long but I’ve never heard of it?”

The prince knitted his brow together. “There’re many things you’ve never heard of but have been around for a long time. You didn’t even know what _cheese_ was before you were brought to me, Leon. I never knew about coconut.”

“True,” he had to admit, “but then, how would you know how old The Nine Divine are?” He then thought to ask, “How long has your family held the, you know…?”

Emil pressed his lips together and listened for activity outside his chambers. Within two weeks’ time, they had learned that servants seldom came to the second floor outside of daily cleaning duties, but one could never be too careful. Only the inner family was supposed to know of the bloodline the Steilssons possessed. Finally, Emil spoke when he believed them to be safe and alone. “I’d imagine we’ve carried ourselves as vessels since the first passing of The Everlasting’s physical form. There was a migration of sorts into human bodies, but who can say for certain if The Nine Divine changed into humans all at once?”

Leon tilted his head. “You really believe the gods just turned into humans?”

“How else would blood bearers exist?”

“I don’t know.” He had a thought. “Well, I suppose if one were to get verrry intimate with a human—”

“That’s blasphemy!” the prince hissed under his breath. “How could you say such a thing?”

“With my mouth.”

“You—” Emil hopelessly shook his head in defeat. He had not noticed Leon had positioned his mage behind the tree. “Forget it. Just don’t say those kinds of things when we’re outside this room, alright?”

“You know me. I haven’t gotten caught yet, have I, Your Highness?”

“Berwald caught us,” he reminded him of their kiss in Nuravik.

“Mm, right,” Leon acknowledged, “but we got lucky it was him.”

Mentioning Count Oxenstierna now, Emil wondered how much longer it would be before they would at last depart from their lonely islands. _Ironclip_ had taken a much worse beating from the kraken than anyone had initially expected. Apparently, there was a leak in the main hull that had ruptured from the cold water and ice. The congregation of seafaring elements had poked a large enough hole that the ship had to be partially docked on land and examined. Patchwork needed to be done on the masts and sails, and the railing had taken heavy tolls from the kraken pulling the ship on its side. Within the cabins, some supplies and cloth had gotten waterlogged and would need a good amount of time to recure and dry wood and materials. Two weeks had gone by already, but it did not seem that the crew would remain docked for much more than a moon at worst. “I’m going to miss everyone when they leave,” said Emil.

Hoping to cheer some of his prince’s glum spirits up, Leon mentioned, “You could always visit them. His Majesty even said you could see them in the capital again.”

Emil’s eyes lowered to the board and stared long and hard at his king, his most important piece. This parley set was old and worn. He thought of the set stuffed in the knight barracks. Sometimes the Cross Guard would hold tournaments with the higher ranks to test their warfare strategies. It was a much more elaborate set, Emil recalled, with the pieces being all carved of fine glassbark and stained with dyes and powders to achieve lustrous reds and blues. Even the boards were etched with precious stones, shells, and polished wood to resemble rivers, mountains, forests, and strongholds. He remembered how the red corner of the board was carved and polished with ruby stones, and the blues with sapphires. Of course, Mathias had always preferred choosing the red corner. _Of course._

_“Y’know, they called me an’ ol’ Gil’ the bringers of blood, red tidal wave, all sorts of red and blood-related things,” Mathias had told Emil when shortly returning from the Sunset War. His court had been discussing the technicalities of his coronation. “Hmm,” he had chuckled. “That’s why Beilschmidt’s dubbed himself the Crimson King now. Thought Ruby King would fit me at first, but, heh, wouldn’tcha know it? Ol’ Great Great Great Great-whatever Grandfather Olvinn already had that title. Turns out he discovered a ruby mine when exploring the stretches of Arbren and brought them back to the kingdom and saved us from financial ruin, so he earned that name.” Emil recalled him smirking._

_“I suppose I don’t wanna be reminded of something so bloody. Ice, I’m not gonna lie, I killed a lot of people. I saw a lot of bad things. I did it so we would continue to have a future…so my people would live to see another dawn.” He had stood. “So! I thought, what about the Dawn King, huh? Pretty poetic given that we just won the Sunset War?” He had scratched his head. “Ah, but that was taken too. Sev—What’s-His-Face the Fifth. So, I settled on Sun. Mathias Køhler, the Sun King. Whaddya think about that? It’s still free.”_

_Emil had smiled, then. “It suits you. Your smile’s like the sun.”_

_“Awesome—! Ah, shit, Beilschmidt rubbed off on me. Glad ya like it, Ice. Butcha know somethin’? I gave my axe a name, too.”_

_“The one made of azielan steel?”_

_“The very one. Saved my neck couple o’ times and then some. I thought it was about time I gave it a name. I know for a fact this one’s not taken.”_

_“Alright, what's it called?”_

_“Ruby Seas!” the soon-to-be king had been beaming at what had appeared to be his own creativity._

_“That’s a good name. I like it. I don’t suppose you’ll have many chances to use it now that the war’s over?”_

_Mathias had smiled with longing. He had looked rather relieved to hear it, himself. “Sure won’t be. I want things to be better, Emil. What Altorien did, it wasn’t right. I did say I saw bad things out there, but it was on both sides. We did bad things, too.” His usually bright sky-blue eyes had dulled in a murky grey. He had reached a hand out and ruffled Emil’s hair. “I’m going to be a good king, Ice. I’ll run a kingdom where we won’t have reason t’ go to senseless wars. I don’t want to see your brother go through that again. I’m not gonna make you or anyone else worry anymore. You can count on ol’ reliable me.”_

_Emil remembered smiling. “You’re not old, Mathias. Anyway, if you’re going to make those promises as a king, you’d better become one first. Don’t you have a coronation to get ready for?”_

_The crowned prince had laughed then. “Spoken like yer brother. I can always count on you two to keep me in line—not that I need it, o’ course.” His expression had suddenly become bashful, an image of Mathias Emil had scarcely seen in all of his years of knowing him. “Ah, but speaking of your brother, you wouldn’t happen to know where he is, do ya?”_

_“The study? If not, he’d either be training in the soiling pits or walking around the Little Lake.”_

_Mathias had grinned. “Thanks, Emil. I’ve, uh...Never mind. Wish me luck!”_

Emil had not known what sort of luck Mathias, the hero of the Sunset War would need of all people. But he had found out shortly after the king’s coronation. Not an hour after Mathias Køhler had been crowned the Sun King, he had made a proposal of marriage to Lukas Bondevik. Emil had lost a prince and gained a king. Yet even though his brother had been granted the title of Shadow, he felt that he, himself, could have adopted the title just as well. While his king and brother paved the way to Crodinia’s future in a sun-basked glow, they had left Emil behind in the shadows, another portion of him seemingly left to wander in the dark of loneliness.

“…Emil? Your Highness?” Leon rose to comfort the prince whose eyes had pooled with diamonds. “Hey…what’s the matter? You can tell me.”

“Huh?” He wiped one of his eyes with his wrist and found it wet. “O-Oh. I didn’t even know…Sorry. It’s the ring. I was thinking of something silly. I’m sorry.” His nose was running.

Leon looked down at the board. There were tears staining the pieces like salty rain on the battlefield. “We can play another time.” 

Emil wordlessly nodded, and Leon cleaned up the pieces and put them away in their case. His former master was still crying when found the parley set a new home on the bookshelf. “Mm, sorry,” he apologized again. “I miss them so much…I want to see my brother again, Leon. I want to see Mathias again. But…I don’t think I can ever go back. How could I face them? After what I did…” He felt the comforting embrace of Leon’s arms hold him and muffle his sobs. The soft voice he heard from Leon faintly reminded him of when Lukas would comfort him to sleep.

“Shh, I’m here now,” Leon whispered. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You heard Berwald, right? No one’s taking care of you because they have to; it’s because I— _we—_ all care about you. I’m sure Their Majesties would be glad to see you again. Just…maybe give them some space right now? I think you need yours, too.” He could not say he particularly missed either the Sun King or the Shadow, but he marveled at the way their ability to conduct themselves as a pair. Though quite like their titles suggested as sun and shadow, they were also two sides of the same coin and ran Crodinia in complete codependence. He wondered if Emil could be the type of person who would ever be able to rule on his own. As far as Leon was concerned, he needed someone to be there with him. _And I can be that person. Just you wait and see, Emil._

He said nothing of the sort to his treasured prince now, however. Emil needed comfort, so he gave that to him in soft reassuring whispers and kisses. _Such a child,_ he thought, amazed at how he had fallen for someone so fragile. He was like glass—beautiful and brittle. Yet broken and strong, Leon knew he would continue to love both the pieces and the whole. Emil was fully transparent. Nothing could escape him.

* * *

“What’re ya carvin’?”

Emil felt the shadow of a tall figure looming over him. He looked up and found himself face to face with the intense stare of Berwald Oxenstierna. “Um, what do you _think_ it looks like?” He held up his creation-in-the-making, the neck and wings more pronounced. His glassbark had a golden sheen to it that was inaccurate to what most scholars and priests believed its original form to take, but there was no one alive to confirm or deny one’s artistic interpretation, Emil’s most of all.

“The Everlasting?” Berwald correctly guessed, though he had not seen the god’s form beyond interpretations of statues and figurines.

“I’m trying to,” Emil sheepishly responded. He was careful not to let his blade slip onto his finger again.

“That dagger’s azielan steel,” Berwald also correctly observed. “Y’know how t’ use that thing?”

“Um, yes, for whittling…” Emil was embarrassed to answer. He knew the quality of azielan steel as much as anyone, especially considering it was a gift, but _because_ it was a gift—and one from Mathias—he felt obligated to use it. Mathias was the sort of person who would become disappointed if his recommendations and gifts were not enjoyed by his receivers. “I know to be careful. And I know this isn’t the sort of activity I’d use a knife like this for, but I honestly don’t know what else to use it on.”

“Didn’t mean t’ sound critical,” was the count’s way of apologizing.

“It's fine. I didn't see it that way.”

Berwald, too, was whittling. He had taken a break and returned to House Steilsson after traveling to the docks and observing the ship repairs. It would be a little while longer before they would leave off, he had said to Emil and his father.

The prince stopped to look at his friend’s piece, a rather lumpy shape that looked more like a blob than a creature. Emil did not say anything, for he had seen pieces of wood that had started out as unintelligible shapes. They eventually took on more intricate forms and details. He had received birds, dragons, and horses as gifts, each one a work of art in its own right. Most of them had been left behind in Markal.

“When y’ come to Vesnïn, I’ll teach y’ how to whittle properly. Y’ave got the right idea; just need to work on yer form."

 _When._ Emil wanted there to be a “when,” not an “if.” Berwald had always been good to him. “Maybe I’ll improve so much by the time I visit, I’ll have to teach _you,”_ he joked, and Berwald cracked a smile.

“You should visit now and then,” the count urged. “If ya think yer family in Markal won’t welcome you back, yer wrong.”

 _How do you…?_

“I know it’s scary bein’ what you are. May not know how it feels, but that doesn’t mean you need t’ feel you’ve gotta push yer loved ones away.”

“I know that…” Then, why was he so cowardly? How long could he blame the ring that rested on his finger?

“I’ll wait fer you,” came Berwald’s offer. “If not here and not Markal, you’ll have a home in Vesnïn.” Emil wished he could hug him, then. The main thing drawing him back was the shimmering short blade in his trembling weak hands. He quietly gave thanks, instead, and hoped he would one day be able to express his appreciation for Berwald’s patience.

By late afternoon—or what could have been interpreted of it, as the sun never fully set—the seafaring crew had returned from the docks and poured into House Steilsson and the nearby village-town of Dufolter. Per its name, it was a modest town as was everything the island seemed to offer in commodities. The bricks and roofs were plain and of natural coloration, and the people were as plain, with modest dressings, culture, and food. The town had became more lively with the arrival of their temporary guests, and most of the townsfolk had gathered to the only inn and tavern where sailors and knights shared stories of life out at sea, training in the grand capital, and visiting other kingdoms.

Emil, too, had indulged in the stories, now that the sailors had some free time to speak instead of work. He had brought Leon with him on occasion, thinking of the books he had read on places he would never visit. The way the sailors described places such as Belethren’s networked channeling systems, to the glorious architecture of Palleci, and the high mountains of Thursaunia were nowhere near as flowery or technical as texts led him to believe, but to hear it from the mouths of those who had truly been there made his heart stir with longing.

“Why are you so interested in visiting other places?” Leon asked when the stories had stopped for the day. Though not permitted to go inside the buildings, he had listened from the open door. They had returned to the house with his former master and was sprawled across his rug, placing wooden pieces from their old parley game around the board. He had won their first game two nights prior.

“Maybe because I’ve always had to be kept under tight guard?” Emil assumed. He did not know exactly why he had found the world from his books and stories so fascinating. He seldom enjoyed being in the company of new faces, and he was physically unfit for travel. He also knew of the dangers in traveling where curious eyes might pry into his possessions and steal his ring from him. “It must be one of those things where the more you’re forbidden something, the more you want it.”

“Ah, so like me with you.”

Emil blushed, more so because of Leon’s confident claim than flattery. “You’re impossible, Leon.”

“I’d like to think so.” He sat up and spread his hand over the board. “Wanna play a game with me?”

After last time’s embarrassing defeat, Emil felt no strong desire to touch the game so soon. Leon had divided what little pieces he had all over the board, that Emil thought he had completely dominated his army. Only, Leon had selected pieces that had enough power and movement to overcome his forces, and with his weaker pieces being forced to spread thin to protect his king, he had allowed his army to be infiltrated like a burst sack.

Although, he _was_ curious. Leon may have only won because he had allowed himself to play leniently. If he put what he knew of his brother’s play style into practice, then surely…

Then, a knock came to his door, and Emil flinched before he could give Leon his reply. He softly ordered Leon to put away the board as he went to see who had business with him.

“Oh. Tino.”

“What is your favorite animal?” Tino Väinämöinen asked without context. Emil had to process the words to see if he had even heard him correctly.

“Sorry? You asked me of my favorite…animal?”

“Yes.”

It was a strange question to be asked so suddenly, but he saw no reason not to answer. “Er, puffin, I suppose. I raised one as a child.”

“Oh, Berwald was right!” the margrave spoke more under his breath than he was with the prince. “Er, sorry, Berwald and I were talking about what animal you might like, and we at least narrowed it down to something native to your birthplace.”

The prince raised a brow. “Why are you asking me this all of a sudden?”

“We are going to be traveling back east, remember? We thought to find you something unique as a gift during our travels.”

Emil could not imagine what sort of gift worthy of a prince would involve puffins. “Thank you, but you really don’t have to give me anything. I’ve already received so much for you. If anything, I should be trying to compensate you for saving my life.”

Tino shook his head. “Nonsense. You need cheering up. We’ll give you something nice.”

He could hardly see the logic in that, but from what Lukas had mentioned of Tino, the margrave’s mind worked on a different plane of existence than most people’s. “If you insist, Tino. Thank you.” That did not appear to be all. Margrave Väinämöinen was looking intently at him, as though he was expecting something in return. “…Is there something else I can answer? My favorite color, or…?”

“We’re going to be leaving tomorrow,” he put it rather bluntly, not that Emil needed to be reminded.

“Right…I know.”

“We thought you might like to just talk with us one last time before we depart. You don’t have to, of course. After all these weeks, you must have tired of our company by now.”

“N-No, never.” Tino and Berwald were not family as Lukas and Mathias were, but that they were high lords meant he could open up another part of himself that he had always been forced to keep hidden. “I’m not tired. I can speak with you, Tino.”

“Wonderful!” he beamed. “Right, then, Berwald will be so happy. He doesn’t really like to admit things out loud about himself, but he's sad about leaving you tomorrow.”

“I didn’t know…” He wondered if there was full truth in Tino’s words. He had spent a fair portion of his childhood playing with Berwald, but seeing as the Oxenstiernas and Väinämöinens were practically neighbors and allies, it would not come as a surprise that Tino knew more about the count's mannerisms than the prince did.

Emil ordered Leon to stay in his room while he paid a visit to the east wing. Tino lead the way to his room, humming a cheerful yet foreign tune. Emil could not even be sure it was native to his home; it sounded closer to Caligan. “Here, here,” he said as he opened the door. Berwald was polishing the piece of glassbark he had been working on. It was already finished. “Emil,” he nodded in greeting. “Made ya something.” He lifted the cloth and presented a stout dragon. It was uncharacteristically adorable with tiny beaded eyes and a rounded body with feathery wings, quite unlike the image Emil had had for his own carving. “It’s not The Everlasting,” he added in assurance.

“Thank you so much, Berwald.” He took the dragon and studied it. No, it was far too cute to be The Everlasting. He remembered how Lukas had cried when he spoke of his powerlessness in facing the feral god alone. The Everlasting did not deserve to be considered innocent. “I love it. The wings are so detailed.”

Berwald did not say anything. His lips were stretched into a firm stubborn line. Tino playfully elbowed him. “You worked so hard on that to make it before we left! Don’t be humble!”

“Mm, glad ya like it,” he said, the subtlest hint of bashfulness in his voice. “So ya think yer gonna be alright here on yer own?”

“I have to be. I’m no different than the others who’ve carried this burden.”

“Except y’are. You’ve got friends.”

Friends. It was true, was it not? His ancestors may have had familiars on the island, but they were limited only to Morstur and never beyond. He had loved ones beyond the lonely icy seas who knew who he was and what. “That does make it better, doesn’t it?” he brought himself himself to say. “If I ever find myself lost, I’ll have somewhere to go.” He moved his eyes gratefully to Berwald.

“You’ll definitely have a place in Höthson, Emil,” Tino brightly smiled, “although you might find it cold, even for someone like you. We aren’t the defenders of The Frigids for nothing.” Nor were they charged with defending the borders from Caliger for their merriness, either, Emil knew. It was remarkable that someone seemingly so carefree could be tasked with such a responsibility.

“Cold or not, I’d still like to see it,” Emil chuckled, and through the sun-ridden evening, the two high lords and the prince chatted on about food, festivals, animals, and stories. With no darkness to drape the skies, prince thought he could go on and on, the moment seeming to never end. _They’re going to leave me, too. Everyone seems to._ He wished it would have lasted.

* * *

The winds were well and fair when _Ironclip_ was set to head off for the mainland. Her sails flowed with somber grace in the cool breeze, and though the temperatures were nowhere near as warm as the capital, the summer’s blessings brought forth a brilliant blue sky. Emil had to practically squint to see. He wondered if it would be enough for him to hold back his tears. _They’re really leaving._ His only comfort came in the warmth of Leon’s hand. He was eternally grateful that he had been given such a gift for his sixteenth birthday. Without him, he believed he would have wallowed in despair for the rest of his life. _Stay here with me, Leon. Never leave my side, please?_

The last of the supplies loaded aboard, Tino and Berwald were at the foot of the loading bridge to bid their final farewells to the prince of Crodinia. Tino gave Emil a large and squishy hug, his arms layered with thick wools and skins. “I wish we could’ve seen your climb up the mountain, but we can’t leave our provinces for so long.” He sniffed and gave Emil’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “You’ll do well, Emil. I know you will. I’ll write to you about our travels. If you want, I can send snacks, too.”

“I’ll write to you, as well,” Emil gracefully smiled to mask his rupturing heart. “Er, but I don’t think you need to send me any provisions. It’s hard enough having to deliver parcels out here.”

“Take care of yerself.” Berwald placed a large hand atop Emil’s head. It sat there like a heavy hat, but one of gentle caress and weight, a signal to let Emil know his old friend would always support him. “Watch Leon, too. He’s a good kid, but he needs t’ be put on a tight leash.”

Emil looked to his side at Leon. His expression was beyond definable, much like the count’s. “I promise, Berwald. Thank you for everything.” He took out a package from his coat pocket. “Um, if it’s not too much trouble, when you return to Nuravik, could you please have these delivered to Markal? It’s for Mathias and Lukas.”

Count Oxenstierna took the parcels and tucked them away in the inner flap of his large coat. Knowing how dependable Berwald had been, Emil did not doubt that his letters would be delivered safely to his family in the capital. “Hmm. I’ll take care of these, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” he said again. He would have let that be it, but then, Berwald opened his arms in a sweeping motion. Unable to contain himself, Emil leapt forward and let his body be swallowed by his bear hug. He could feel his legs being hoisted into the air, and he was airborne for a few seconds before Berwald gently put him down. “S-Sorry,” he apologized with a flustered look. “I guess I need to work on my image.” He straightened out his cape and smoothed over his hair. “Forgive me. An adult doesn’t do such things…”

Berwald cracked a micro-expression of a smile. “Yer human. It’s only natural we seek affection. You’ll do well.” He stepped back and took one last look at the prince. Then, to the Altorienese standing beside him, he gave a slight nod and turned his back to them. He walked up the board with Tino trailing behind, the margrave waving a final time before they disappeared onto the deck. Emil watched the loading board retract into the ship and the sails drop. Captain Harlan shouted orders for the anchor to be lifted, and in a matter of minutes, _Ironclip_ was seaborne. It glided over the lapping gray waves like a leaf floating across ripples. Then, it sailed on and on, out into the western horizon until the fog shrouded its shape, until it was nothing more than mist.

Emil felt a knot in his stomach like nothing before. With Leon being the only company with him, he tried to use cold fire to heal the nausea, but the feeling stuck like a stubborn clog. “Oh, Leon,” he moaned, “I miss them already.”

His former pet thinned his lips into an even line. “I miss them too. It’s going to get a lot quieter without Margrave Väinämöinen dining with us.”

Emil stood there with Leon for a time, as if hoping the ship would suddenly reappear beyond the fog and come back to dock. But the ship never came back. It was nearing the afternoon before the prince had to accept that. Without uttering a word, he turned heel and started back towards the house.

Since Leon did not know how to ride, he had resorted to walking again. Emil had arrived on horseback but was returning on foot, too, as the ponies that had been brought on the coming trip were to be taken into the mainland. The mount he had taken to the docks was to be shipped with the crew back out to Nuravik. “Once our horses leave the mainland, we never bring them back,” Emil explained. He made a small hop over a thin brook. There were waterfalls all along the road back home. “We do that so we don’t taint the bloodline of our horses. Too much foreign blood makes our breeds more temperamental or susceptible to the cold.”

“Hmm,” Leon hummed, “sounds like something I’ve heard before.” He had heard that while many Altorienese women had been taken captive as servants, pets, and other demeaning roles, there were not many westerners that harbored mixed Altorienese children. It was rumored that any half-blooded infants were either aborted or killed after birth, but then, Emil had only heard rumors.

Still the thought had plagued the prince's heart. “S-Sorry, Leon,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to imply anything like that. I was only…”

“It’s fine, Emil, I was teasing. Sort of.”

The prince frowned. “Um, anyway, that’s why we did it. The horses in the mainland are free to breed with whatever other steeds are in their owners’ possession, if that helps. They just won’t—”

“Look as cute as you?”

“I was going to say as hardy or sure-footed.” He added as-a-matter-of-factly, “I’m not a horse, Leon.”

Leon could not help chuckling. “Is everything on the island as cute or beautiful as you?” He tilted his head the prince’s way to see if he managed to make him blush. To his delight, Emil’s cheeks were flushed with rose pink shades.

“No, and don’t call me cute when we’re back at the house, Leon. I am not supposed to be cute.” He cleared his throat and tried to fix his hair, as if it had somehow gotten messier from his flustered nature. “I’ve been told Eldur Mountain harbors are particularly unforgiving pit at its center. If you’d know anything about volcanoes, it’s that they have the power to spit fire and cover everything in ash and smoke. Nothing about that description implies anything ‘cute,’ I’d say.”

“Mm, to that, I suppose one could make the argument that something powerful can always be _beautiful_. That’s how the emperor’s always been.”

“The Garnered?” Emil’s ears perked up. In all his time of knowing Leon, he had seldom mentioned anything about the deceased ruler of the Altorien Empire.

“Sure, whatever it is that you folks call him. You know that the emperor’s always chosen by, like, merit and potential, right?” He saw Emil nod. “But there’s another quality that the people enjoyed. Did your books ever tell you what that is?”

Emil buried himself in his thoughts. In his years of studying diplomacy and history, Altorien was a unique case in that the intricacies of its governing system were scarcely embellished upon. He could recall passages on Altorienese inventions, spices, festivals, and trading routes, but were someone to ask him to name the ruler who controlled famine in Fei Xing or the child prodigy who helped his empire push back against Caligan invaders, he would not have been able to answer correctly.

 _It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?_ Emil was almost trying to convince himself. _The empire’s no more. What difference does it make who did what and when?_ Yet he was curious. Merits and potential aside, what would the other trait be? What made a good emperor?It was one thing to be a king; it was another to be an emperor. There had been smaller governing systems scattered throughout old Altorien: each had its own culture, its own geography, and sometimes its own dialect that very well could have been a completely different language than traditional Altorienese. For a single man to rule them all, it would take someone of great character. Emil would have even said that it would take all nine blessings for someone to attain such prowess, but then, the Altorienese rarely worshipped The Nine Divine.

He was lost. “You said merit and potential,” he echoed, hoping saying the words aloud would get his thoughts working. “Merit would imply actions and accomplishments one has achieved. That _is_ what your Crodinian implies, right?”

“Yes,” Leon confirmed.

“Mm, then I could say that qualities like strength, wit, loyalty, and honor fall under merit, no?”

Leon chuckled. “Those are the four merits of Crodinia, aren’t they? _Ruum, jeckt, raed, and nohd.”_ Emil sometimes wondered if he was more astounded or envious of Leon’s remarkable memory. “Sure, we can say those are merits. But none of those are the thing that the Altorienese looked for in an emperor.”

“No? Oh…And as for potential, it means they have the capability of doing great for the future. You’ve already covered the grounds, Leon. What more could someone look for in a ruler who’s both done and _can_ accomplish amazing things?”

His companion cocked his head like an inquisitive bird—or maybe an insightful fox. “You really think your people love Mathias Køhler based on his achievements alone?”

“Oh.” An incredible draught of guilt spilled over Emil’s gut. Of course, he would have never thought his brother-in-law to be a respected king because of what he had done. He had a kind and bold heart, and he was always viewing outlooks with a positive attitude. That had to be it. “Then, personality must be the answer. Who would love a ruler who was too tyrannical or cold towards his people?”

Again, Leon chuckled. “I was being, like, how you’d say…‘rhetorical,’ I think is the word. Personality helps, but when you’re talking about an _emperor_ , you don’t need the people’s love, necessarily. You need respect, but you also need fear.”

 _Fear?_ Had the Altorienese feared their last emperor? Then why would they have gone so willingly to war for someone so cold and cruel? Because of him, thousands of people from both sides had fought to their deaths. Many more had been enslaved, starved, and suffered from sickness and subjugation. Could something so primal such as fear have been enough to drive hundreds of thousands to needlessly die? Emil did not need The Everlasting inside of him to know that one’s concept of life was precious. He could not fathom such a principle ever being upheld for as long as it had in the fallen Altorien Empire. “That couldn’t be it, Leon,” he mustered what feeble courage he had to say. “You may be able to run a country or a kingdom with fear for a time, but that alone with your so-called merit and potential wouldn’t be enough. I refuse to believe it.”

“Hmm, so you say,” Leon mused. He was humming in that strange tune again. Emil wished he could find out where it came from. Then, he laughed, a discomforting sound when Emil did not know its reasoning. “You passed the test, Your Highness. It’s not fear that the Altorienese sought in a ruler. It’s actually more superficial than you think.”

Emil, now having recovered from his shock, found it in himself to wrinkle his brow more in confusion than frustration. “Superficial?” he repeated. “How so? Like beauty?”

“Right you are,” the former Altorienese laughed some more. “Beauty is the answer. It’s so stupid, isn’t it?”

The prince could hardly believe it. Was Leon toying with him? He _had_ grown bolder in teasing him as of late, even if he was sincere deep down. But then, if he was not… “Oh my gods…” he breathed. “ _That’s_ why he is always called The Garnered?”

Leon shrugged. “Dunno about that. That’s the kind of game you royals seem to play. But, sure, that makes more sense, doesn’t it? The Altorienese value that sort of thing for whatever reason. It’s why all the emperors were so lavish and well groomed.”

Emil thought back to what Leon had said earlier. _“Something powerful can always be beautiful.”_ Was there _always_ beauty in power? He thought of the Sunset War and of how his people returned with different eyes. There was supposed to be honor and glory in battle, but the expressions he had seen told him anything but. Even though the Crodinians had come out of the war victorious, how could anyone find beauty in the bloodshed, violence, and trauma?

And yet, there were those, still, who had described and written about the battles in such painted details. Emil felt that he could have been there, too, smelling the iron-wrought stench of blood and hearing metal clang and men and fel’n cry in anguish and hatred. He had found it hard to tear himself away from such graphic descriptions. Perhaps that fascination was, in a way, its own sort of beauty. “If the Altorienese value beauty alongside merit and potential, do you think _I’m_ beautiful, Leon?” he asked more out of curiosity than as a counter.

“You’re cute,” Leon replied without a semblance of hesitation. He lightly laughed when Emil made a face. “I’m teasing. I’ve always seen you as beautiful.” He added, “Perhaps more superficially at first, but I’d say your heart’s more beautiful.”

 _It isn’t_ , the prince shamefully thought to himself. He had confessed to Leon his initial thoughts towards having a pet made companion. His intentions had been selfish. Leon would not have forgotten. There was not much to be proud of in that regard. However, he kept silent and let his thoughts be his own. He wanted Leon to think he was beautiful for a little while longer. “Thank you, Leon.”

His beloved companion twisted his lips into a bemused smirk. “And here I thought we were going to blush and refuse my compliment. You’re very welcome, then, Your Lord Highness.”

To his own astonishment, Emil rolled his eyes. Had he grown familiar enough with his presence to feel exasperated? “You’re getting cocky.”

Leon’s smirk never left his face. “Really, now, I’ve been this way for a while.”

The two walked until they passed the fork in the road, going beyond the road that would have led to the town of Dulfolter. They continued straight ahead until the moss-covered House Steilsson came into view, the state of it modest as ever.

It bothered Emil that he had not recalled the building being so humble and plain in the past.As a child, he was somewhat proud of living in one of the few structures with two stories. There was even an underground cellar for storing preservatives during harsher seasons. In that sense, no other families on the Islands of Morstur were quite like his, vessel-bearing curse aside. And even by the time he had been made aware of his standing, he had already settled himself down in the royal family’s castle. He had been pleased to have called the three-story castle his new home and had enjoyed a personal chamber that had a balcony overlooking the main gates. Smells from the kitchens had occasionally drifted to his room, signaling him to go down to the dining hall to eat. _How lavish yet simpler things were._ He looked at House Steilsson now. It was as plain in standing and roles as ever before. There had never been even a Steilsson that had sat on the high council, despite his house reigning over the Staven province. _Is it because we’re so disconnected from the rest of the world_ , he wondered?

The prince had somewhat hoped that by returning with the knowledge of the capital, he would find ways to better provide to his people’s needs. But as he had come to learn in the past few weeks of living in his birthplace, he realized that the Morsturic residents were far too plain and simple to have ever needed anything beyond the necessities. This world on the main island was all they knew, and those who did find the courage and curiosity to leave never came back. _And yet here I am._ The thought of it frustrated him, to his own surprise. He found that he had little sentimental attachment to his family’s people, and as such felt no strong obligation to help what did not want to be helped.

It was like his mother’s illness in that regard. He wondered if she had been influenced by their simplicity. The island residents could live centuries more without ever needing to venture forth from their green rock and be happy. They had their food, clothing, houses, and traditions as they did anyone else without the materialistic desires from the people of the mainland. He had expected something of an easy rule once he would become high lord after his father, however, it all seemed like such a waste of his efforts. His knowledge had surpassed that of this lonely island.

 _Lukas, you were wise to never return here_ , he realized with a cold thought. Yet, as he gave a nod to the single guard by the arch, approached the stone barriers, and saw the occupants of his family’s house, his sense of duty had built itself up as its own wall. There were many others before him that had not wanted to undertake their duties, yet they had performed them, anyway. He had no reason not to do the same.

“Welcome back, m’lord.”

“Welcome back.”

“Nine blessings, Lord Emil.”

“Welcome home.”

 _Home. I am home._ But had it ever truly been as such?

Though he disliked doing so, he thought to go pray before supper and clear his thoughts. Perhaps The Everlasting’s brethren would offer guidance to a fellow god. “I want to go to the temple,” he announced aloud to no one in particular. He was not sure if Leon was listening, for his eyes seemed to have lowered to the ground, possibly to hold up his guise as a pet. In any case, he took Leon with him to the grounds just outside the main estate. The triangular edifice sat idly on a bank of lush green tungrass, frost flowers quivering in the faint ocean-born breeze.

“Stay here, Leon,” he ordered his former pet, and went through the wooden walls. That the entire temple was made of wood was remarkable on its own. There were but a few small forests scattered throughout the main Island of Morstur, and all else was typically imported from the mainland. He did not know how old this temple was, but from his family’s records, he knew the white flame that had stood vigil to The Everlasting’s alter had been burning for at least three vessels before him.

He stood before the white flame now, entranced by its bright blaze. Underneath that was the soft and gentle features of the one who resided inside his body. There was no trace of suffering, fear, or anger on this form. He wondered if the sculptor had carved it out of its original likeliness, or if he had modeled it after what an ideal god must resemble. _I’m sorry for putting you through that_ , he silently apologized to the god within. _My brother is sorry, too._ He looked to The Ruined, an almost amorphous shape of tattered wings, sharp teeth, and a warped appearance of sheer intensity. He wondered why it was always portrayed in such a way. House Bondevik’s house words were “From destruction comes creation.” That meant through the harshest of times, there was still hope for something better, or at least Emil liked to think so. Then why did the temple always have The Ruined be portrayed as so frightening?

“Emil?” came a prudent whisper.

The prince nearly jumped out of his skin. He had thought he had been the only one in the temple. He only managed to hold himself together when he recognized the gentle voice of his mother. “Oh,” he could only say at first. His heart had surely blocked his windpipe. She must have been praying somewhere in the shadows and away from the white flame, where he had not seen her.

“I thought it was you,” his mother smiled. “I still recognize your footsteps after all these years.” _Even before you went blind,_ Emil wondered? “Have you come here to pray?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Wonderful,” she glowed, her fair-skinned appearance ever brilliant against The Everlasting’s alter. “Then, perhaps we may pray together?”

“Of course.”

He knelt in front of The Everlasting and clasped his hands together in prayer. He prayed for his mother’s health, and that his brother might recover from the trauma of killing The Everlasting multiple times. _Please accept his guilt on my behalf_ , he pleaded. _I want my brother to be happy. He deserves that much. Let him find peace in knowing I will no longer be a threat to his livelihood._ He closed his eyes and half-hoped that maybe the god within him would awaken and offer him guidance. _Please. Anything?_

But there was silence. He let out a quiet sigh, hoping the crackling flames had drowned out the noise. His prayer sent, he waited for his mother to finish, and they made rounds across the entire Nine Divine. He prayed especially hard to The Ruined, in that by losing his company, Lukas’ heart and mind would heal. _May my prayers reach you, Lukas._ _Mother is with me. We all wish you well._

He had also prayed for others close to him. He prayed to The Wrought, Ornate, and Bountiful, that Mathias might uphold a prosperous and just reign over the Kingdom of Crodinia. He prayed to The Fair for Leon, so he would settle down comfortably by his side without any hardship or strife. For Berwald and Tino, he prayed to The Venturous and The Ruined for a safe passage through the Blizzarding Sea and beyond until they returned home. And, lastly, he prayed to The Valiant and Arcane, that he might find the courage and determination to uphold his father’s expectations.

“Done, Emil?” his mother asked when she heard him stand for the ninth time.

“I am,” he said. He took her hand and carefully led her outside, though he was positive she had learned how to navigate the house grounds by now. Her touch was remarkably cold, colder than his own touch. _If I use cold fire on her, she will be able to see me again._ He could feel his hand twitch as he wrapped his fingers around her bony palm. He wondered if she had noticed the ring he wore.

When they stepped out of the temple, Leon was patiently waiting outside. “Leon,” Emil called, “to me.” He watched Leon come to his left, but the bright prospect he had worn on his face dissolved into a neutral expression.

“Something the matter, Leon?” he asked. His pet shook his head without a word, knowing his place on his family’s estate.

“Child, there is nothing to fear,” his mother laughed, sensing his reluctance. “I am but a simple sightless fool.” It was the first time she had admitted she was blind out loud in front of Emil. Still, Leon kept his distance, using his former master as a barrier between him and her. Emil withheld himself from sighing in front of his mother. He would have to scold him later.

For now, the trio entered the main house, Gerda wishing to be escorted to the women’s commons. Emil instructed Leon to wait for him at the study, that he might have one last moment alone with his mother for the hour. “It’s kind of you to take in such a fine young man,” she smiled, her eyes blank and staring. “You’ve raised him well. I must admit, I was afraid you would be angry at me for not being there to raise you and Lukas.”

 _Don’t make me feel guilty._ Emil had enough of guilt. He did not want to feel it from his mother of all people. “I’m not, Mother. Confused, perhaps, but never angry. Although…why did you do it?” Both his mother and he stopped walking. “I wished you were there. Lukas and Their Majesties—both Vitus and Mathias—took great care for me, but I just want to know why it was that you refused to ever visit us.”

His mother smiled in a far-off way. There was a somber look in her glassy eyes. “Forgive me, Emil. I’ve always been weak in health. It appears I’ve always been weak in mind and spirit, as well. My influence would make you soft. I didn’t want my presence to reflect itself onto you.”

“It wouldn’t have, Mother.” Even with the ring on his finger, he was certain of it.

She airily laughed to that. “Then I’ve been a bigger fool all these years.” Her voice calmed. “I couldn’t protect Lukas. I didn’t want it to happen to you, too. _I_ let him become the way he is, Emil. It would break my heart to see you so influenced by me.”

 _What of Lukas?_ She did not know about blood bearers or the Steilsson curse. Was she referring to her first marriage to Petter Bondevik? Lukas had never spoken to much length about his father. He had either changed the topic or claimed there was little to recall during his first years as an only son. _Lukas, Mother, what happened to you?_

He did not feel as though he would get an answer today. His mother continued onwards to the women’s commons. There were maids and wives knitting and spinning yarn from wool. The walls and carpeting smelled like hay. The women greeted the lady of House Steilsson and the prince.

Emil’s mother let her hand slip from his grasp. “I know the way from here. Thank you, Emil.” He stood there and watched her glide to a corner next to the window. It was opened to vent out the fibers and smells, but Emil feared the cold draft might get to her lungs.

“Mother, is it alright for you to sit by the open window?” he asked, going to her. His outdoor cloak still worn, he bumped it against some baskets of yarn, having to apologize as he moved to the end.

“It’s fine, Emil,” she insisted. “I could do with some fresh air. It’s not easy for me to wander outside as I used to.”

“O-Of course, but…” he held in a sigh. “If you feel a chill, be sure to move somewhere warmer.”

She smiled, her head already facing the window. The everlasting summer sun shone on her skin through the glass, illuminating it like the white fire in the temple. “I’ll keep that in mind, Emil. Thank you.” She fumbled for a basket with knitting needles and yarn. There was a cloth that was already in the works, a shawl or a sweater, from the patterns.

“I’ll see you at dinnertime?” he asked before taking his leave.

“I’ll be there,” she replied with a smile, not looking his way.

“Until then,” he bowed, though he knew she could not see him. He turned and left, muttering soft “Excuse me’s” as he backtracked to the door. _Father should be in the grand hall at this hour._ He had learned of his schedule during the first week, having a runaround with him on his second day being settled in his old home. Mornings brought forth news and small tasks; the afternoons were when meetings and hearings were held; by late afternoon, Sveinn would retreat into the study or his chambers to write letters and reports of supplies and political matters to the other houses in Staven; and come evening, dinner was served, of which closing words and thoughts would retire on full bellies and a good night’s rest.

All in all, it seemed a much simpler life than what it would have been in Markal. Emil’s studies no longer had to consider the other four provinces, as the king and his council were responsible for handling them. In addition to only having Staven to worry about, foreign affairs and diplomacy among the other kingdoms were practically nonexistent. The Islands of Morstur were so well-protected by the Blizzarding Seas, that even with ships being better constructed and magic more understood, there was scarcely a reason to be concerned with the commodities and locale of an isolated set of rocks.

Emil had borne these thoughts long before he had been told he was going back to Morstur. Mathias had been right in a sense: he enjoyed the peace and quiet. However, his heart pined for something greater. He wondered if it had been wise to bury his nose into so many adventure novels and geographical texts. _Had I been born with The Venturous instead of The Everlasting, I bet I could have gone anywhere I wanted._

Alas, vessel or not, records of The Venturous’ blood bearers had vanished long ago, along with The Wrought and The Ornate. Among the royal families who did have blood bearers, they had not been able to discover the whereabouts of The Three Divines’ descendants. Last Lukas had said anything about it, there had been some discoveries of Wrought and Ornate blood still in existence, but further examination had proven those claims to be false.

 _If anyone knows if they still exist, it would be the blood bearers of The Arcane._ Thinking of The Arcane, he wondered how Leon was holding up. Emil had long since held the secret of his family’s curse to himself and a few close others all his life. However, for Leon to be forced to keep his secrets against his will and with violent punishments sounded more miserable than he could imagine. He wished to go to him now, and see how he was faring.

Leon was idling by the door of the study, but he was not alone. There was a small crowd of men and women watching him and talking amongst themselves as though looking at a carnival bear on display.

“His hair is so black! Like obsidian!” one whispered, as though Leon could not hear her.

“Where did he come from?”

“His Lord Highness brought him from the capital. A pet, I heard.”

“They’ve made pets of Altorienese? If I could have one, I’d want one as pretty as this specimen.”

“Why does His Lord Highness let his hair grow like that? I thought he was a woman.”

“Perhaps he is more than a pet.”

“Don’t say such a thing!”

“Y-Your Lord Highness!”

The prince put on as straight a face as he could manage as he made his approach. Like roaches, the crowd scattered and dispersed. “If you have time to gawk, you have time to attend your duties.” He spoke evenly with a firm tone, just as his brother had done at Markal. “How my pet looks and where he came from are none of your concern. Off with you.” He watched the servants, scholars, and attendants dissolve to their stations. “Leon, to me,” he ordered and slipped into the study. Leon obediently followed.

When the doors had closed, Emil turned heel and examined him, readying his cold fire should he have spotted a scratch. “Did they hurt you?” he whispered, in case there were scholars between the bookshelves.

Leon shook his head “no.”

Emil at last breathed a sigh. It had felt as though he had been suffocating. He wondered if he would have to put up this façade forever. “Did they say anything odd about you or me?”

Again, Leon shook his head. His golden eyes looked up from the floor and scanned the shelves. It was then that Emil had noticed that during the entire spectacle, he had kept his eyes glued to the floor. It had been like that when he had first brought him into his company.

“If you say so.” Emil chewed the insides of his cheeks. “If they touch you or say something that slights you, tell me.”

This time, Leon nodded.

The prince took his companion to the aisle of numbers. Here, the history of harvests, yields, and profits and losses were recorded for past and future reference. It took into account harsh cold times, inflation, and trends of optimal growing and harvesting seasons. There were categories divided into materials, imports, exports, and trading partners. The Islands of Morstur commonly only traded within the kingdom, where merchants from the Kvaran territory—Nuravik especially—would make the journey across the Blizzarding Seas and exchange goods and coin. Emil had known for a great while that his people were more prone to trade for furs, exotic produce, and lumber than actual gold. With the population holding a strong sense of community, there was hardly a need for exchanging mint for goods and services. And so, it came to be that Emil had to decipher the value of exchanging such goods.

Four hours into the eternal sun, Emil felt his head fitting to burst. He rubbed his eyes and suppressed a yawn, in the case that a stealthy scholar had somehow escaped his attention. Funny, he thought, that he could still feel exhausted despite being immortal. He did not _need_ to sleep. He did not even need to eat, as was pointed out to him during the first time he had recovered from his transformation. But his mouth would stretch into a yawn, and his stomach would growl with hunger, and so, he sought to appease his body’s primal desires with food and rest. The child in him wanted to blame Limsekr for his trickery on The Nine Divine of old.

“I think it’s about time for dinner,” he said to Leon, who had curled up into a corner not three hours ago from idling boredom. When Emil looked to him now, however, his heart dropped to his stomach as he saw him reading through a book. “Leon, put that back!” he whispered as loud as he dared. He flew to his person and scooped the text away from him. He stole a glance at the cover. _Myths of the Sunrise – And Other Tales of P.D._ This was a book that contained recorded myths and legends of life before The Dawning had taken place. There was also a copy of it in the royal study back in Markal. “You shouldn’t be reading here,” he had to tell him. “There may be others who frequent the study.”

“We’re the only ones here. I'd smell them; everyone else around here smells like straw and horse dung. Besides, I was bored.” Leon spoke in a normal volume. That he was even speaking Crodinian displayed his confidence. “He looked expectantly at the book. “Can I take that with me? It’s an interesting read.”

“No, you cannot take that with you!” Emil still whispered, though more urgently than before. “If someone finds it missing, they’ll use a tracking spell to lead it back to you!”

“Whoops, totally forgot about your Crodinian magics,” Leon said, seemingly defeated, but his passive tone suggested otherwise. “Couldn’t you, like, say _you_ were the one who took it?”

Emil leered at him. “The prince of Crodinia does not steal books from the study.” He wished his former pet would take him more seriously. Leon may have been obedient, but he had a mind of his own.

“As you wish, Your Lord Highness,” Leon smirked in relenting. He stood and smoothed out his trousers. “So you said we were going to eat? Great. I’m starving.”

Dinner was smoked lamb, boiled potatoes with scant butter, pickled herring, and stewed greens from the gardens. There was also a large pot of broth made of fish heads and bones, cabbage stumps, sheep hooves, and some native roots for flavor. Emil took a bowl of this broth and gave it to Leon, who had since accepted his spot by the wooden beam in the corner. He also gave him a halve of bread and a tin of everything from the table. He could not offer him ale, but it seemed that Leon was not particularly fond of it, anyway.

“Starting tomorrow, you will join me in the grand hall for hearings,” Sveinn Steilsson announced to his son after supping. The hall had emptied save for Leon, his son, and himself.

“Yes, Lord Father,” Emil stilly replied. That meant adhering to the high lord’s schedule. There would be reports and letters to read and write on top of his studies. He expected his father to let him speak during the hearings and barter with the western territories for provisions. And on occasion, he would be permitted to report directly to His Majesty, the Sun King, himself. _How will Mathias feel, seeing my handwriting in the Staven reports one day,_ he wondered?

“I don’t want your pet in attendance,” his father added. “He may be under your ownership, but he is still Altorienese. Put him in the stables when we aren’t together.”

Emil’s gut twisted. “That’s—He’s well behaved. He can stay in my chambers, can't he?”

But his father's eyes were hard. “There have been talks about your relationship with him. Some have reported odd noises and smells coming from your chambers.” Emil wanted to vomit. He thought they had been discreet, but apparently not enough. Sveinn's blue eyes were cold like the ice in Morstur's glaciers. “Do not give the people any reason to confirm the rumors floating about—” He gave the Altorienese on the floor a stern look. “—even if they _are_ true.”

He was had. Emil’s throat was too dry to swallow the knot within. “I understand, Lord Father.”

The high lord of Staven leaned back in his chair, the mirror dragons encircling him in petrified flight. “You and your ‘pet’ are excused.”

Emil wasted no time hurrying Leon away from the grand hall. He lead him to the springs to bathe, as if the hot water from the volcanic veins would cleanse away his guilt and shame.

“Well, _that_ was terrifying,” Leon softly murmured under his breath when he was certain they were away from his father’s audience. He did not sound terrified. “Looks like we’ll have to be away from each other’s company for a while.”

Emil threw his head to him. “What do you mean ‘a while?’ Leon, someone knows about us! My _father_ knows about us! We can never do 'that' again, do you understand?” He apprehensively squeezed his ring and spun it around his finger. “I’d be surprised if he evens lets you go with me to Eldur Mountain after this. I’m so stupid!”

His former pet raised an eyebrow, seemingly not understanding the weight of the situation. “What are you worried about? You’re not the first high lord to take a lover—an Altorienese one, even. You’re not going to be the last.”

“Perhaps, but none of them have come from Morstur!” Emil hissed. He paced in small circles before proceeding to the hot springs. He muttered under his breath, “If we don’t rid the residents’ of their memories, the rumors will spread, just like they do in Markal. I wish my brother was here...”

“Does it matter? Thought you said we weren’t in Eliatha anymore,” Leon shrugged. “You said the gods worked differently here.” He stared at him. “Doesn’t that mean you work differently here, too?”

Emil did not have time to play into Leon’s games. He kept his mouth shut and dragged him to wash by the basins. A quick wash and a short soak later, he took him back to his chambers to dress in appropriate sleepwear. Then, he found a maid and asked for thick duvets to be brought to the stable entrance. For Leon, he was sure to bring thick furs and linens.

“What’s with all this?” Leon mumbled when he ogled the pile of furs his former master had given him. “It doesn’t snow all that much during the summertime, right? So why all the furs? I’ve slept in worse.”

“Because when it doesn't rain, the sun is going to be up, so you’ll want to give yourself a sense of darkness—” He paused and caught himself. “Sorry. Maybe not. But they’ll make it easier to hide yourself with. The stables are not the most pleasant place for anyone to find themselves sleeping in, and I don’t want any trouble to befall you. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

Leon twisted his lips into an unreadable line. “I’ve seriously slept in worse, but if you say so. And don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” He took the furs and linens, anyway, without any further complaint or questioning. Again, he could be obedient, even if he did have a mind of his own.

When the sun disappeared over one of the taller mountains, Emil stole Leon away to the stables, finding a swept-out stall in the far corner of the stables. Leon had a Morstur pony for a neighbor with a thick chestnut coat and fuzzy white stockings. “She’s almost as pretty as you,” Leon observed. “And she smells stronger, too. Maybe no one will complain with this one.”

“Leon, that’s a gelding,” Emil hated to tell him.

“Oh.”

With some hasty preparations, Leon had a presentable bed as good as any Altorienese prisoner of war could be granted. The floor was dry with a thatched straw roof overhead, and it was far enough from human traffic that Leon could sleep peacefully and unnoticed. “I’ll bring you breakfast and take you to the grand hall for dinner,” Emil explained to him. “I don’t think you’d see much of me, regardless. This was a long time coming.” He exhaled a breath of warm air, a wisp of fog visible with the sun hiding itself away and making the temperature cool. “I’ve always known what was to be expected of me when I would return here, but you being bestowed to me wasn’t—let alone my falling in love with you.” He knelt to Leon’s level and kissed his lips, inhaling his scent before it would become indistinguishable with the stable bedding. “Stay out of trouble, alright? Promise me this?”

“I’ll stay out of trouble’s view,” Leon responded in a sly twist of words, his spirit growing bolder with their kiss. Emil wholly believed that was the best he was going to get out of him.

“Right, then…” He rose and gave a longing look at him. “Sleep well, Leon.”

“Have fun with your father tomorrow,” his former pet called back with a singsong voice and lazy wave. He had since made himself comfortable on the ground, using a skin of furs as a cushion, and another for a shrouded blanket over his thick duvets and linens. If it were not for the drastic change in conditions, Emil would have thought he looked perfectly content.

 _How can you act so carefree? How might I become if I have to go through the things you did, Leon?_ Almost as if hoping he had heard his inner thoughts, he looked back to see if Leon would give him an answer. However, Leon had since retired for the summer evening, the sky a calming teal blue above. Had not the horrors of war done its time to him? He thought of the darkness, his cries, his smile, and his smell. He had emerged from the wreckage broken but beautiful. It was all so strange yet fascinating to him, the more he dwelled on it. He had never truly understood him.


	22. His Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukas broods over the departure of his brother while Mathias struggles to console him. A reply from an old friend finally arrives.

During the two moons following the Red Summer, sailing was at its peak enjoyment, if leisurely voyages were anything to go by. The sun was not too hot, the winds were not too cold, and the salty air blew inland in drafts from as far as Belethren across the Dead-End Strait, bringing forth memories, beckoning to discover wonders still unknown.

Mathias Køhler was not a man of prose by far, but he was one learned enough to appreciate a good sailing voyage and sing praise of its wonderments when such an opportunity was offered. His singing, however, was less welcome in company. Nevertheless, it felt like a dream to have his vessel cleave through the bounding waves, with nothing but the roar of water and barking of gulls to keep his ears company.

Of course, that was mainly due in part to his sailing companion falling mute. Lukas had been easy to sway as of late, not that Mathias could blame him. The king had hoped that by taking a brief overnight trip out in the open sea together, they would at last get a moment of peace and space to themselves. However, there was a hole in his heart that his brother had once filled. Through some sense of purpose or obligation as his caretaker and family member, he had used it as a crutch to support his very person. It was like he was a castle, with his mind the library, his wit and tongue the armed gates, his secret gentle nature his private chambers, and his obligations and commitments the pillars and columns—or something like that. Mathias would not admit it aloud, but he was not particularly adept at architecture or analogies.

What he needed more than the ability to sing prose or build castles was a way to get through to his dearly beloved husband. The easiest solution he saw would be to invite Emil back into the castle again, let things be as they were before the transformation. But as things stood, he could not let the tragedy that had befallen the castle happen again. He had seen the disaster twice now, and last time, they nearly lost.

They had known the risks when they had made the decision to send Emil back to the Islands of Morstur. What was done could not be undone. Not even The Everlasting and its ability to mend time had the power to revert its true destructive potential.

The king’s powerlessness drove him up the walls to insane degrees. He was Mathias Køhler! He had to power to rally forth a humble team of men from unmarked villages to fight some of the most notable platoons in Altorien. He had sailed across the Cloud River and down rapids to surprise an unsuspecting army of fel’n upwind. He had brought his kingdom’s morale back from the brink of ruin, and villages, towns, and cities, alike, had prospered under his short rule. Yet all of these accomplishments meant nothing if his husband could not bask in his glory, too, for Lukas had been with him through it all. Like Emil, Lukas had become an irreplaceable part of him, and if there was one thing that Mathias truly hated, it was being helpless.

He had spoken to Lukas, made his favorite foods, shared with him his usual favorite activities, gave him space for days until his husband had wandered his way back into the throne room, and tried pleasuring him in his favorite positions in bed. Lukas had barely budged. His quick-witted tongue had dulled into a lump of meat with naught to say. There had been flashes of his former self with instances of sharp comments or snapping at those out of line, but otherwise, his mind was elsewhere these days.

A few times, Mathias had gone to the temple to pray to The Everlasting and The Ruined, in hopes that the two might console one another and find a way for Lukas to recover his spirits. It usually worked: one moment tragedy would befall Lukas’ life, and the next, he would perk up to events of unfathomable fortune. Such was the way the world worked when one was a blood bearer of The Ruined.

Lukas’ blessing had yet to take fruit, it seemed. Nothing so horrible had happened to him after Emil had left, but nothing fantastic had taken place, either. After the first moon had passed, Mathias had feared that perhaps all those favors he had done for Lukas to cheer him up _were_ The Ruined’s blessings taking place, but it had never been quite so concrete. There was always _something,_ an impossible spell realized, a breakthrough in his learning, an emotion freely demonstrated on his face. Mathias had seen it and known it. He, too, had _felt_ it.

 _You’re taking your sweet damn time, Ruined._ He let the sails fall loose and let the vessel slow to a crawl. Being a smaller vessel, hardly big enough to fit seven people, it rocked noticeably in the waves. Both Mathias and Lukas had grown their sea legs long ago, the recurring bobs a second nature to their sense of balance. Lukas was looking at nothing in particular when he uttered a rare question, “Why’d you stop?”

“When are you gonna _not?”_ Mathias threw back more in concern than as a counter. “I’m gonna give it to ya straight: yer not well, Lukas. I’m worried about you.”

His husband blinked his vacant midnight-blue eyes that he loved getting lost in. Nowadays, it seemed that Lukas was getting more lost in them, himself. “Oh, I know I’m not well, Mathias. I simply deserve this, is all.”

It felt like a punch to the gut, hearing those words. It was rare that Lukas ever fully pitted the blame on anyone but himself, but this was a whole other beast of self-loathing. Normally Lukas would pick himself up and build up the walls he had constructed so carefully, but now that the support that was his brother had left, he could barely hold himself up to eat, sleep, or speak.

“Well, _I_ don’t! We made the best possible choice we could, given what was happenin’, and I’d do it again as a king to my people. You’ve heard this before, Lukas, but I’m gonna say it anyway: the more you do this to yourself, the worse it’s going to get. I can’t run the kingdom on my own—” Defeating though it was to admit, he admitted it anyway, “—that’s why I asked you to marry me. Please, Lukas. I’m gonna be selfish. I want you to come back to me. I need you.”

The ship was still as he waited in vain for Lukas’ response. In his recess of words, he played back those he had said out loud. “ _That’s why I asked you to marry me?” Mathias, you idiot!_ He had always been careless when it came to his own feelings. Even with others, he had steered the atmosphere towards his own favored course, disregarding the actual mood of a situation. Maybe his feelings being cast aside had been a part of being raised to be a king, but he could have worded it so much better! “Lukas, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I love you. Your helping me is just a bonus. You know how I feel about you.”

The sea was still. They might have been drifting, but the Sun King knew the waves would push them back towards the kingdom. He could have used the bobbing motions to help him think, but it seemed _so_ still. “Lukas?” He looked to his husband for a sign that he had heard him, but he had leaned over the ledge again. Cautiously, he approached him, taking care not to make any sudden movements. Then again, Lukas was not one to be easily startled. Yet when he moved closer to Lukas, he could see why the ship had seemed so still. There was a layer of dark ice enclosed around the vessel’s hull, freezing it in place. “…Lukas?"

The Shadow rolled his head to him. His marvelous sapphire eyes had sunken into dark rings. “Do you know why you _really_ asked me to marry you?”

 _Not this…_ “Forget I said that, Lukas. You know me; I’ve gotta way with messin’ words up.” He cleared his throat. “I asked ya ‘cause ya know me better than anyone else. I mean that in all fronts. What I like, don’t like, my strengths, my fears. No one else can offer that. And it doesn’t matter that it could’ve been someone else—that someone is _you._ I love _you_ , Lukas. That’s why…”

He heard a sharp crack from beneath the ocean. Mathias flinched. He had heard of leviathans and sea serpents occasionally braving the waters here, but they normally only did so in the cold of winter. Summertime, they were typically out fishing for migrating schools, or so he wanted to believe. But this was no sea creature.

“I’ve always wondered how far the lengths of a blessing could take someone,” said Lukas, examining his hand. It was shaking. “Could it last for eternity, as our wedding vows promised?”

 _No. Not again. Lukas, please._ “We’ve been through this conversation before.”

“And I’ve never gotten a straight answer from you.” Lukas brought his hand down on the railing. The length of it soon became coated in the same dark ice that had possessed his blood. “Before we marched off to partake in the Sunset War, did you really love me?”

“I did, even if I didn’t know it.” He threw back, “But don’t act like you knew it, back then. You’ve told me yerself: you thought it was a phase that would pass.”

“Neither of us knew,” said Lukas, “and therein lies the problem.”

Frustrated with his verbal inability, Mathias moved onto Lukas and kissed him, hoping to at least convince one of them that what they had was genuine. It had always felt real to him, so why could Lukas not see that? He felt his lips pressed upon, Lukas joining in his movements to his delight. He snaked his hand to his waist, feeling how thin he had become from days of eating little more than peas and potatoes. He had even seen bone beneath skin when they made love as of late.

A sharp pain pinched at his lower lip, and Mathias withheld himself from pulling back. Biting again. Lukas often did that when something was troubling him, yet this was the first time he had done so since Emil had left. He released his hold on him and stole a final bleeding kiss before he gave them space. There was an iron taste in his mouth. He recognized it well by now.

“Sorry,” Lukas mumbled. He wiped his lips with his wrist, finding a streak of rustic red strewn across his fair skin. He blinked.

“T’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“You should be mad at me.”

With wide eyes, Mathias hissed through his teeth and threw his arms in the air. “I _am_ mad at you! If you just…! Had some confidence in yourself, you’d know that this has nothing to do with your blood or what The Ruined does!” And yet, try as he had to convince himself, he had never been able to disprove Lukas’ nagging concerns—that what they had built up together had been constructed of blood, steel, and old dark magic. “I’ve always loved you, Lukas, even if you couldn’t see it. Do you want me to prove something to you? I’ll construct a castle in your name; I’ll buy you all the flowers in Eliatha; I’ll build a hundred fucking statues of you if I have to!”

“No, don’t do any of that.” He caught a slight tone of amusement in Lukas’ voice. At least he was not completely lost. “I know you’re probably right, Mathias. But I find myself wondering if this isn’t all some elaborate teeter-totter of balancing out my blessings.” He sighed. “ It’s never been so bad before. It makes me wonder what sorts of fortune or creation might come of this.” He reached out a thin hand and stroked Mathias’ cheek. Then, he leaned forward and kissed him again, his taste rich and pure. “Even if it were the act of the gods, I should deserve happiness, I know. It’s just…”

“That’s not the way you are,” Mathias glumly finished, the reality of it tasting bitter on his tongue in spite of their kiss. He joined his husband by the ledge, watching the horizon more than the ice that held fast his ship. “What if I were t’ tell you _I_ killed those people so you could love _me?_ The blessings don’t work one way, you know. I’m no blood bearer, but there’s gotta be some exceptions for kings, too, doncha think?”

Lukas laughed. This was good. “That’s impressive—more because it was me saving your ass than the other way around. I’ve never known someone so careless as you. Don’t mistaken that for bravery. You don’t have The Valiant’s blood as _he_ does.” 

Mathias frowned. “I don’t wanna talk about him right now. I wanna talk about us.”

“We still are.” Lukas stopped to adjust the pin in his hair. Though much of his appearance had deteriorated in subtle gestures, he had always made an effort to wear his betrothal cross with pride. “I’m good at that, looking after people. I don’t know if I _like_ it, per say, but I’m good at it. You can’t deny that.”

“Nope. Sure can’t.” 

“Out there, when you fought, as reckless as you were, you did so with a sense of purpose. You did it for the kingdom.” Lukas stared at him with thoughtful eyes. “Yet beneath that bold façade, you needed a crutch, someone who knew you and could work with you when the crown would fall on your head.” He chuckled. “Though I suppose you don’t really wear it,” he jabbed to his husband’s wild mane of hair. “I don’t know, Mathias. Maybe that concern of mine _was_ love, or maybe it turned into it, or maybe you _are_ right, that The Ruined granted you my affections.”

“You say you don’t know, but you’ve always known this.” Mathias tore his eyes from the sea and to his husband. “Lemme ask you something, what difference does it make? We’re here now. We’re talking. Are we not getting somewhere?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I’ll always think about it, Mathias. It’s…natural to me. It’s like a cycle.” Mathias caught him spinning his finger in circles. Even when the ice withdrew and melted like black blood, a stone rolled in his stomach. “I’ll be fine in time. I just need a little longer. I love you.”

With a sigh, the king leaned into Lukas’ back and held him, resting his chin atop his fluffy blond hair. “Yer not sayin’ that out of guilt, are ya?”

“I want to believe I’m not.”

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll believe ya.”

Their lovemaking felt more passionate that night. Lukas had offered himself to take over, exposing his bare chest as he rode atop Mathias’ groin. He moved his hips in sultry motions, adding soft moans to the wet sounds of their skin kissing one another. Unable to contain himself, Mathias came unannounced, a shudder vibrating through his husband’s glistening body. Lukas clenched his thighs over his waist, seeming to crush his breath from his diaphragm. He let out a sound when he removed himself from his length, a flood of seed spilling back onto his thighs and oozing down the mattress.

“Want me to help ya finish?” Mathias offered. Lukas’ answer came in the reply of a deep kiss. He used his entire mouth, entering with his tongue and sliding it over his. With eyes shut, Mathias blindly searched for Lukas’ erect member and moved his hand over it. He felt a quiver pass as a subtle sound and wet sensation burst into his hand. Some of it got onto his torso. Lukas’ breath was short and quick when he collapsed onto him. He mouthed some magic words and vanished away his seed that had spilled. “I wanted that,” Mathias faked a whine. “We didn’t catch anything today.”

“I know you’re not hungry,” Lukas grunted, knowing that sex always left the both of them filled in more ways than one. “If you are, you can finish what’s left from me.”

“Erm, no thanks.” When it came to his own, he had something of a code of pride and stubbornness. “Ya feelin’ better, by the way?”

Lukas rested his chest against Mathias’. He played with a nipple, pinching it and running his finger around its tip. The tenderness made the space between his legs sting. He might be able to go again if Lukas continued to entice him. “I’m fine.”

The air was humid and sour. In the wintertime, it was as a personal sleeping draught for Mathias’ nose. However, in the summertime, it was less inviting, as even though Markal could still have the occasional snow, the evenings were just warm enough for the humidity to be a nuisance. He moved to adjust his position on the mattress and felt Lukas’ groin slip from the viscous trails of fluids. “Can I ask, how come ya can’t vanish away my, you know…?”

“I don’t know. It’s only when it’s been in me. Outside, I can make it disappear. I can vanish my own blood. Same with sweat and spit.”

Mathias made a face at the thought, his beloved husband bleeding enough to have it spill from him. And though he was able to do so, his actual ability to heal had vast limitations. It was Emil who excelled in healing arts, thanks to The Everlasting, an opposing talent to his brother and The Ruined.

“Lukas, about Emil—”

“I’ll be fine, Mathias,” he insisted, though his physical appearance betrayed his stubborn and forlorn nature. “It’s…quiet is all. I knew he’d have to go back to Morstur one day; I just never expected it to be so sudden.” Mathias wrapped his arms around his husband’s neck. “I’ve had plenty of time to mull over my misfortune, Nine Divine help me. I only wish I was stronger.”

A grimace appeared on Mathias’ lips. Emil had wished the same several times. The few times they had prayed together, he had often observed him praying to The Valiant and The Wrought for courage and strength. Lukas had done the same, however, it was one thing to be a descendant—and another to be a god.

But then, what good was any of it, if mankind could not use The Nine Divines’ blessings to surpass their abilities? Had that not been why they had aided the humans during The Dawning? Or was it…? Gods, he was terrible at this. He did not want to think. He only wanted to look upon Lukas’ face until he fell asleep with his breath running over his broad chest. “You’re plenty strong, Lukas,” he said with a smile. “You’re the strongest person I know next to me.”

Lukas shortly laughed. “Ha. How direct in your comparison. You didn’t sound like you were joking.”

“Was I?” He was not sure of it, himself.

“If you were, I’d be amazed at your level of wit.” He brought a finger to his nose and gave it a toying flick. “Your head’s too thick for sarcasm, and your heart’s too honest.”

“That’s wonderful.”

His husband rolled off of him and fell to his side on the mattress. Though he had put in as much training as his king, he always fell to the slimer side. Mathias had told him to put more meat into his diet, but it seemed Lukas preferred bread and sweets. His preferences may have had something to do with his notion against eating what was once living. _Always never liked killing, did ya, Lukas?_ He had seen the Shadow do it plenty of times during the war, but he had done remarkably well to hide his reservations—that or The Ruined had fulfilled him with its blessings.

“You’re quiet,” Lukas murmured, his eyes already closed. He had rested his hands underneath his head like a pillow. “Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking.”

“I won’t, then.” He had begun to get a grasp of how to bounce off of his husband’s humor in the three years of their marriage. And it was coming to four. Mathias had pondered what sort of celebration they would have. It could not be too elaborate, since five years was the lucky number in Crodinia. For that, he would be sure to invite all the high lords—Emil included. That would make Lukas happy, would it not?

Again, Lukas mumbled something. His breathing had slowed and increased in breaths. That was good, Mathias thought. He was going to actually go to sleep early for once. “Thank you, Mathias.”

“For what?” He waited for a reply, but it had seemed that Lukas had fallen asleep. He was afraid he would forget to ask him what he was grateful for when he, too, went to sleep.

* * *

Marcus was waiting at the edge of the piers when Mathias docked his vessel. The Cross Guard who specialized in the arcane arts often patrolled the southern piers, looking out to sea for any unmarked ships that may have been trying to enter the capital’s ports. Since Surlith was within the same direction, Mathias sometimes joked that Marcus was actually looking out towards his home, before he had accepted his position as one of his handpicked elites.

“Your Majesty,” Marcus greeted the Sun King and the Shadow with a bow, “two pieces of news: Emil Steilsson has been safely escorted to the Islands of Morstur, with a personal note from Count Berwald Oxenstierna and some parcels, and you also have a letter from His Majesty, the Tulip King, Tim Maes of the Kingdom of Belethren. Both arrived yesterday while you were away.”

Mathias and Lukas looked at one another. In Marcus’ hands were envelopes containing a more personable parcel, bundled with burstup cloth and tied with a thick woolen yarn, most likely made from the sheep raised in the Islands of Morstur. In the other was a simple envelope, thin as Tim’s typical generosity, though Mathias would have defended his old friend in saying that he was more practical than simple.

“Thank you, Marcus,” he nodded, taking the envelopes. To Lukas he immediately handed Emil’s letter; no doubt there were words in there writing of reassurance. Emil had always been a model young man. Mathias could not have asked for a better brother-in-law. He, however, broke the wax seal over Tim’s letter, pulled out a single unfolded piece of paper, and read what little contents it contained.

> _Come to Tyse._

Mathias thought it was a joke at first. He squinted his eyes against the piece of paper, as if there was more to be discovered by the short insult of words he had waited weeks to receive. He looked at the back of the paper. Blank. He peered into the envelope again to see if he had missed something. Empty.

“What the fuck,” he said aloud. Lukas even looked at him.

“Something the matter, Your Majesty?” Marcus asked, still presiding over them.

“Nothing,” he responded. _At least, it’d better not be anything._

Lukas, however, had years of experience in knowing how to read his husband. “Do you want to go back to the castle and read these? I want to write a response to Emil.”

“Sure,” he eagerly took the offer. “Let’s do that.” He gave a dismissing nod to Marcus, letting him know they could take care of themselves going forward. “Thanks again for getting these to us.”

“It is my duty.” Marcus bowed again and returned to his station, Lukas and Mathias heading in the other direction towards the castle.

On the walk back, several citizens gave the royal pair formal greetings, other familiars shouted words of salutations their way. Unlike those who shared the blood of The Everlasting, they had not recalled the gruesome scene that had taken place at the docks two moons ago. “Mind telling me what was in that letter?” Lukas asked, not looking Mathias’ way. He was focused on giving his returning acknowledgements in small gestures, a nod or a wave here and there.

“Don’t see why I need t’ hide it,” Mathias hid his scoff behind a smile to a boy who was showing him a toy axe. “It was one sentence long, three words.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

Mathias took a deep breath. He withheld a sigh when a kind-faced woman gave him a fresh roll of bread. “For you, Your Majesty. Nine blessings,” she grinned, her teeth noticeably white yet crooked. She must have been a fisherman’s daughter or young wife. He thanked her and took the bread. He was not hungry, but perhaps by eating it, it would deter others from giving him gifts.

“Nine blessings to you, too.”

Lukas waited for him to scarf down his bread, Mathias pleased his trick had worked. By then, they were beyond the docks. The walls that had once been breached by The Everlasting stood grand and erect. It was almost impossible to think that something two stories tall could have been breached like a wall of sticks. He kept his eyes to the ground as Mathias caught up to him.

“Tim’s asked us ta go to Tyse.”

_“What?”_

“That’s all it said,” Mathias refrained from frowning. He had on his face a plastered smile as more and more subjects and castle attendants increased in population. He gave short greetings to some, and nods to others. It was always difficult carrying a conversation with a single person, even Lukas, during his walks around the common grounds. He should have saved this one for when they were alone again. _Why couldn’t you have sent this sooner, Tim?_

Lukas had kept himself in check, too, giving salutations that were subtler and quieter in nature than his husband’s. The residents could have understood that there was conflict in his heart, due to his brother’s absence, however, most everyone at the castle had believed that Emil Steilsson’s departure had been due to his preparations for assuming his father’s position as high lord of Staven. Only a handful knew the truth; even those who Mathias had picked to take the prince westward had been denied their assignment’s true purpose.

“Nine blessings, Your Majesties.”

“Nine blessings.”

“Shadow, nine blessings.

“Nine blessings.”

“Nine blessings, Your Majesties.”

Lukas inched himself ever slightly closer to Mathias’ body. Whenever he did so, bumping into him, it was a sign. Mathias recognized it right away. _Hang on, Lukas. We’re not in the clear yet._ They continued to greet the castle residents until they were approaching the main temple. This one was undoubtedly the same one Emil had prayed in before he had removed his ring.

After what felt like an eternity, Mathias and Lukas retreated safely into the castle walls. There, more knights and scholars gave them their attention, the king having to hear of appointments and subjects of upcoming hearings. The king had relied on his faithful Shadow to memorize those, but recently, because of his faltering attention, he was forced to rely on his own good recollections—of which they were poor, though he was too proud to admit to anyone.

_Dinner with the Cauhlssons, hearings’re going to have lettuce trades, need t’ sign off on a ship after passing inspections—or was it a lettuce dinner and hearings with the Cauhlssons? Cabbages? Gods, Lukas, help me here._

He looked to him, hoping for some rescue, but his husband’s eyes had wandered elsewhere. No doubt he was thinking about the Tulip King’s request. He, too, knew that the Belethrenic ruler handed out words in the same amounts he did money—sparingly—but the request, itself, was what must have stricken him silent. Why would Tim need to have them go to Tyse personally only to have some questions answered?

Mathias had to keep up his appearances all while having his own questions to think about. He thought of juggling, as the jesters in Tabrinni and southern Ésbel did, with their colorful suits and painted faces. They did it well. He could do it, too, could he not? _Dinner with Cauhlssons—and yes, it’s the Cauhlssons. Lettuce trades. Ship signing. Cauhlsson dinner, lettuce trades, ship signing. Dinner, lettuce, ships. Dinner, lettuce, ships._

“Mathias…? Mathias. Did you hear me?”

“Hmm? What?”

Lukas had an arch to his brow, a rare expression, as he normally wore one of mild annoyance to exasperation. This was still good, however. His dear husband was still himself. “I was asking you what you were going to do.”

“Do? Uh, ya mean having dinner on the ship?”

_“What?”_

_Fuck._ He tried again. “Didn’t the Cauhlssons say ‘Let us have dinner on our ship?’”

His lovely husband looked at him with eyes of astonishment. “Are you daft? Did you hear anything the council was saying to you?”

“Yes? I had t’ have. I got the—what was it?—Dinner, lettuce, and ships down, didn’t I?”

Lukas let out a low groan, his personality and color returning since Emil had bid them farewell. “Even if I wanted to dwell in the loss of my brother, I can’t do that because I need to worry about _you._ ” He raised to his eyes the parcel that he had been clutching so dearly close to him. Contained within them were words from Emil. “I want to read this. Alone.” He looked over his shoulder, seeing no one behind them. “If anyone asks for me, I’ll be mulling in ‘the study.’ Tell them that.”

Mathias’ mouth hung open. “What about me? And Tim? I can’t read Emil’s letters, either? Lukas—”

“Alone, Mathias,” Lukas’ voice stretched itself thin as a thread. He swiveled around the king, pressing the parcel to his chest and glided to a familiar location.

 _Lukas, you fox, yer not going to the study._ He would have followed him to the Little Lake, but he was swarmed upon by stewards and captains pulling at different parts of his attention. _One at a time, dammit!_

Three hours must have passed during the time Lukas had made his successful escape and when Mathias had found him again, sitting calmly underneath the base of a winter willow. The stringed branches swayed lazily in the late summer breeze, blowing a lock of Lukas’ blonde hair out of his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes. There was a sense of peace about him as he read a piece of parchment, Emil’s letter most like. His lips were drawn into a fond expression. There was a smile there, the first genuine one Mathias had seen in weeks. The gods be damned, he had fallen in love with him all over again.

“There you are,” he announced his approach as he walked to Lukas’ side. One of the winter willow branches caught a tuft of his hair. “Eugh,” he swatted it away, “Lukas, ya done readin’ Ice’s letter?”

“Mm?” Mathias’ heart swooned when he looked at him, a clear expression like the clear night sky after a good rainfall. “Oh. Mathias. I was reading Emil’s letter.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He saw a sealed envelope dedicated to him. “May I?”

Lukas handed him the envelope, his eyes returned and affixed to his brother’s letter. “I must’ve read this thirty times now.” There was a longing in his voice. “He’s grown, you know. I remember when we were young, how he couldn’t write his K’s without making them look like a cross, and I had to tell him it would be embarrassing to not know how to write such a common letter. It was the first letter of your family’s surname, after all.” Mathias laughed to that. Lukas’ voice seized. “He knows what had to be done, and he knows what he did. He’s told us to move on. He knows we know to do this, but he’s reassuring us, Mathias. I needed this. I needed to know he wasn’t upset with me…”

Ignoring any onlooking eyes, Mathias hugged his husband as tightly as he could. He felt his familiar shape and warm, the smell of his soap-rich skin and the trilled heartbeat caught in his throat. “I’m here, Lukas.”

“Mathias,” Lukas squeaked, “…you’re...going to…bend the letters.”

“Oops.” He pulled away. His envelope had folded its corner. “Sorry.” Lukas had withdrawn, protecting his own fortunately unharmed letter as if with his life. Mathias decided now was the time to look at his own.

He had never paid much attention to Emil’s studies, being nine years his senior. However, he had to say that the young man had a knack for handwriting with as elegant a personality as his older brother. The edges of his calligraphy had sharp etchings of reluctance and hesitation in its flow, whereas he had noticed how Lukas’ hand flowed across paper like a network of rivers. It was clear that Emil had used Lukas’ handwriting as a model for his own, with his unmistakable F’s and A’s curved with a distinct flair picked up from old Morsturic runes. His language was reassuring though faltering with his own confidence, and he (thankfully) lacked the undermining wit the Shadow possessed.

> _Dear Mathias,_
> 
> _If you are receiving this letter, I hope you’d be pleased to know I’ve arrived safely home. It’s a funny thought, isn’t it, that I am calling this place my ‘home’ again? With you being so busy these days, I wonder if you would ever find the opportunity to visit this place. It is a strange but exciting feeling to be able to see my parents again. My father has grown older, but his steadfast nature is as apparent as before. Mother is frail but also well, it appears. We all send blessings to you, that you will continue to guide Crodinia to a bright future._
> 
> _As for the Islands of Morstur, themselves, I can only give my birthplace so much justice in mere words. There are waterfalls that pour from every crevice in the earth, and the fields are lush with greenery and black soil. The air is cool and clean, as a sharp dracay blows through the very heart of the main island. The smell is unlike any other. On clear days, I can see the base of Eldur Mountain from my window. Lukas must have told you about it before. One day I will make a journey to its summit as my ancestors have, and I will tell you what it looks like. I’d like to do it when we meet each other again. That would be alright with you, wouldn’t it? I understand we didn’t bid farewell at the best of times, but I’ve given it enough thought to know what you did was right as a king. I do not harbor any ill thoughts towards you or Lukas._
> 
> _And Mathias, if Lukas is reading this as well, please know that I want you to love and protect him where I could not. I’ve always wished to be strong like him, although I don’t ever think I ever could surpass him. When we should meet again, I want to be the type of person that can stand on my own. I may never be strong enough to protect you, but the least I can do is make sure you do not have to worry about my well-being. I will have a lot of growing to do, but even if I should change in behaviors or speech, I will always be myself._
> 
> _I wish you and Lukas the very best. Even now, there are thoughts in my heart that I cannot put to writing, and should I see you again, I fear even with experience under my moons or years, I wonder if I would be able to express the gratitude I have felt towards you. May the nine blessings be bestowed unto you, and until we see each other again._
> 
> _Your brother,_
> 
> _Emil Steilsson_

Mathias, too, found himself rereading Emil’s letter over and over again. He had apologized to his brother-in-law countless times for making the decision that he had, but even now, upon reading Emil’s words that bore no grudge towards him, he felt a sharp stab of guilt burying its way deep into his gut. He missed the kid. He should have spent more time with him. He did not need to go to all of those needless hearings and fruitless events. He could have talked with Emil more and let him open up his heart. He had been lonely, and though he thought he could read Lukas like a book, he had failed to notice his brother falling into similar depths.

“Gods…” he mumbled, his fingers trembling, struggling to keep his letter still. “Ice, I’m sorry.”

Lukas had peeked over Mathias’ shoulder and read his letter. He did not look disapproving. “He wrote something of the same to me, but with more detailed words of assurance. He’s smart, and he is strong. Stronger than me. I don’t know why he’s always held me to such high regard.”

Mathias forced a smile. “Hey, unlike you, Emil doesn’t lie. If he says yer stronger, he’s telling the truth. Don’t be like that?”

“I’m not. Emil’s told me not to be. He expects me to be strong because he knows I’m capable of it. I’ll not squander his opinion of me.”

The king laughed. “Wonderful.” He read Count Oxenstierna’s letter, which contained details about their journey, conditions of the western portion of the kingdom, and the events of an attack at sea. _A kraken…? Gods, at least Emil is—_

“What has our good friend of the north said in his letter?” Lukas asked, not given a chance to read Berwald’s words.

Mathias put on his best smile and folded the letter into a pocket close to his heart. “Everything looks good. He said we should visit Nuravik sometimes. He said it’s beautiful this time of year.” He cleared his throat and withheld himself from blinking, so Lukas’ suspicious would not arise. “Alright then! You ready to help me run the kingdom?”

Lukas hissed a laugh, stealing himself to cover his smirk with a robed sleeve. “That’s my line, Your Majesty.” His demeanor melted into a neutral expression, then concern. “Never mind your lettuce and dinner parties. Tim’s note. Do you have it on you?” This, Mathias readily handed to him, the envelope he had carried in his pocket since they had left the piers. Lukas gave the note a read, then, scrunching his eyebrows, also examined the back of the paper and envelope. When he recited a spell of uncovering and found nothing, he handed the note back to Mathias.

“Well,” he began with a deep sigh. “I suppose this is something we’re going to need to speak about in private.”

Mathias’ ears perked up. “Can we retire early tonight?”

“No, you dunce; there’s work to be done now that I’ve decided to get off my ass, gods help me.” He began biting his fingernails, something he only did in front of Mathias when he was nervous in thought. “Fuck. This goes back to that hearing we weren’t there for.”

“What?”

“When we were in Sar’ph. Emil was in charge, remember?” Lukas tried to jog his memory to no avail. “You don’t remember. Well then, allow me to enlighten you: the pets who were taken during the Red Summer. That ring a bell?”

“Oh.” It was coming back to him now. He had consoled Lukas that day, after he had lamented killing the apprehenders. Now there was a second stab to his gut. “I’m sorry, Lukas. So much has been going on…I remember. So…what do you think we should do about this?”

“Let’s tell the council we’re going to be postponing today’s gathering,” Lukas suggested. “We need to talk about this some more and fast.” He was nibbling at his fingernails again. “This is something that feels so time sensitive, so why did it take him so long to get back to us?”

“We won’t find out sittin’ here. Let’s go see that council, huh?”

After the couple managed to postpone their public appearance for the day, they retreated into their chambers, far from the usual castle traffic. The only ones who frequented this place at such normal hours were maids who came to regularly clean, but they had already made their rounds, as Lukas was familiar.

They rarely used their chambers as a place to frequent besides love making and sleeping. There was a fireplace on the end opposite the outlooking balcony, with a sheepskin set of two chairs and a single ottoman. Neither ruler touched them much, except to hang dressings on, but today, Lukas sank into one of the seats and found it comfortably soft.

“Huh. I wonder why I haven’t used this before,” he commented.

“Probably because I’m more suited for your ass?” Mathias joked. He shut up and took a seat when Lukas gave him a disapproving look.

With a sigh, Lukas folded his hands over his lap, and, sitting across from his husband, stared at him with a pensive look. “From the council records, a woman named Lena Veinsburg from House Veinsburg said that there were kidnappings happening throughout Crodinia—as far as Staven to Tabrinni—that involved Altorienese pets with golden eyes.

“The fact that this subject was brought up in the public hearings means that there is a population of Markal that knows this is an issue now. I’ve sent warnings to the populace to keep a close eye on their pets, but that doesn’t mean it’s enough to prevent the kidnappings. Plus, we still don’t have full confirmation as to _why_ golden-eyed individuals were chosen.

“We found nothing in the royal study, the capital library, and little in my castle. But now Tim’s come along after you asked him about there being a similar thing happening in Tyse. Why do you suppose that justifies him requesting our presence? What could either of us gain by traveling hundreds of kilometers and across the Dead-End Strait to discuss the issue? Why not send the information via letter?”

Mathias’ head was spinning from Lukas’ questions and of his own. He tried to put his answers in an order that made the best sense, but his mind had gotten lost somewhere between needing to go to Tyse and all this talk of golden eyes. He wanted to steal Lukas away and go back out to sea, no more use for all this silly kidnapping business.

 _Fuck me, it still needs to be done._ “Best bet we’ve got is just to go to Tyse, doncha think?” It was the most practical response, one that even through all of Lukas’ questioning had sense to its simplicity—although traveling to Tyse was a feat all on its own.

“You can’t go to Tyse, Mathias. The kingdom needs you here.”

“The fuck I can’t! I haven’t been to Tyse in, what, seven years? Everyone must’ve grown up by now. I wanna go!”

The Shadow’s pupils would have disappeared into the back of his skull had he rolled his eyes back any further. “Don’t be such a child,” chided Lukas, his tone reminiscent of an impatient parent. “Even if I were to rule in your stead and allow you to go, you wouldn’t ask the right questions, let alone retain the correct information. I don’t even know how important this is an issue, Mathias, yet if Tim would request our personal audience, there must be a reason for it.” He had not known what sort of person the Tulip King was, not the way Mathias had, however. As far as he was concerned, Tim could have been playing some sort of practical joke on the two of them, or even something more sinister had he been another sort of person. With both rulers gone from Crodinia, who was to say forces from Belethren might boldly try to infiltrate the capital and seize the city? Its naval fleet was the second most powerful only to Tabrini’s, and all they would need to do was sail up from the south and bombard the docks with enough magical cannons to shatter their barriers. “You’re not going to Tyse, Mathias,” Lukas reiterated his statement. “I shall go in your stead.”

The king did not take that well. “So what if the kingdom doesn’t have a king for a couple days or weeks? The council’s good enough that it can run it just fine without us. We’re leaving the Crodinia in good hands—”

“Do you not have pride for your crown—or does it not exist because you can’t wear one thanks to that bucket of straw on your head? Mathias, you’re going to have to trust me to do this on my own. I can take care of myself. The fewer people we have taking a trip between kingdoms, the better. Can you imagine what sort of attention you’d draw to yourself if the Sun King made a visit to the capital of Belethren?”

“So what? We had several kings come over during Emil’s birthday, and no one made a big deal of that.”

“Yes, but they weren’t _you_ , Mathias, the honest heroic king of the Sunset War. You attract all sort of attention, even if you don’t realize it. I want this to be discreet—stop running this matter in circles and _trust me_.”

“I do trust you!” he frustratingly threw back, but his heart started to hurt. That was new. His heart may have worked itself up when he was fighting a difficult opponent, but he had beaten Lukas a fair amount of times when they sparred. Why was it hurting now? “I don’t want you to go alone because I know how…” His voice trailed off, wondering if he should bring to light his husband’s nature.

Lukas, however, crossed his arms and drew his mouth into a flat line. “How what, Mathias?”

The king gritted his teeth together and remained silent. He did want to admit his concerns aloud. He was Mathias Køhler. He should have been able to handle anything, especially a little trip. But that was not what the issue was.

Unable to wait any longer, however, the Shadow held his hand up and placed a finger over his husband’s lips. Mathias’ nerves seized. _Lukas, you wouldn’t—!_ “I can’t run the kingdom by myself!” he blurted out, the words from his thoughts leaking through his mouth. He tried to stop, but he could not help it; the words flowed like water. “I don’t think you can take care of yourself because yer always so sad an’ lonely when I’m not around, an’ ever since Emil’s been absent, you haven’t been yourself, and that makes _me_ sad. I don’t wantcha to be on yer own because I’m afraid of what you’d do to yourself and others.”

He could feel the charm lift after the last of his words left. Something tight against his heart floated away like a nagging fly, relieving him of the mild annoyance. Upset, he threw himself at Lukas. “Why’d you do that? I hate it when you do that!”

The Shadow was undeterred, even with his shoulders being pinned to the chair. “You’ve a terrible way with words. Your heart’s more honest.” He dusted himself off when Mathias begrudgingly released him. “So you’re worried about me. I can’t say I blame you; I haven’t been myself as of late. I’m…sorry if I’ve given cause for your concern.”

Mathias’ chest stung. “That’s not—”

“All, is it?” he butt in. “I’m not your mother, Mathias; I’m your husband. Do you expect me to dote on your every command and royal order as some devious parrot? You’ve a mind of your own, so use it. I trust you’ll manage just fine with me away. Emil was able to do it in a short matter of time; why shouldn’t I expect the same, if not better, of you?”

“That’s…because you’ve always been here, too, Lukas. I like it when yer with me. It’s the most reassuring thing in the world—you don’t need The Ruined’s blessings for me to say that.”

A smile flashed on his beloved’s fair face. “I didn’t even need to use a charm to extract that from you.” He deeply kissed him. “I’ll ask you again to trust me, Mathias. If things are well, I’ll be gone no more than two weeks. We’ll have our answers, and I’ll return to you as soon as I can. You’ll keep the bed warm for me, won’t you?”

A void already building within him, Mathias returned his kiss, hoping to extract some fulfillment from his husband while he still could. He was going to have to let him go. This was something that needed to be done, the gods help him. “I don’t want to. I hate waiting.”

“Hmm, I’ve heard that before.” Lukas petted his hair. There was a distant look in his eyes, as though he had already planned out his luggage and trip route to Belethren. “Now then, since I’ve received your indirect permission, I’ll need to arrange for my absence. We’ve a lot to do before I leave.”

That much Mathias could agree with. If he was focused on one thing, Lukas was thinking of four and planning three steps in front of him. He would have offered to help, but he knew his aid would only count as interference. He loathed how helpless he was in a situation like this. Already Lukas seemed to have recovered and was paving his way for the future. “Lukas…?”

His husband’s eyes momentarily snapped back to the present. “Yes, Mathias?”

“Can you…I dunno, maybe do something for me?”

“I’m listening.”

He bit the insides of his cheek. “Maybe when I’m around, could ya try living in the present? So I’m not left behind?”

Lukas lifted his eyebrows in a surprised arch. “Huh. Odd of you to say something so poetic. Am I not speaking with you right now?”

“Sure, ya are,” he tugged at his hair, “but I always feel like yer somewhere I can’t reach ya. If something happens to you…how could I even make it to ya? If I can’t be with you when yer gone, then at least let me be with you now.”

He watched the expression on Lukas’ face turn from skeptical to pensive. A groove formed between his brow and sat there as his husband began to claw at his sleeve. Then, he stood, moved over to his bench, put a hand over his head and stroked it. Then, he cupped Mathias’ jaws in his hands and pulled him closer. “There. You feel that, don’t you? Now I’m here in the present. You see me?”

“I always have.”

Lukas laughed. “Of course you have, you idiot.” He kissed him. And again. And again. Mathias’ body was warm. It became sensitive to Lukas’ touch. Had his hands always been so thin and cold? His hair…there was a smell of anise. They had not bathed yet, having spent yesterday out at sea. Yet Lukas smelled wonderful, delicious. He exposed more of his scent with a deft tug at his belt, which loosened his tunic and freed his chest. He groped his skin beneath his clothes, taking care to notice the heightened tempo of his breaths.

“Lukas…” he murmured the love of his life’s name like a spell. He began to pant, the small, cramped chamber hot and tight like the space within his trousers. Unable to contain himself, he tore at Lukas’ robe, unpinning the clasp around his cape and freeing his milky chest. The rest was a blur of moans, breaths, and fluids. Somehow they had ended up on their bed, their garments discarded carelessly on the ground. Mathias could not remember if he had bitten Lukas, or if there were new red streaks on his body. All he knew by the end of it that he had been starving, and Lukas’ being had fulfilled him. He could still taste traces of him in his throat. “I should’ve given you a warning.”

Lukas sneered at him, his pale chest rising and falling, with his beautiful body splayed over the mattress. “You never prepare yourself. I should have known better.” He struggled to prop himself up, his body no doubt in pain. If only Emil was here. “Help me up.” Mathias pulled him from their bed watched him dress. Even though they had finished, watching Lukas cover his body made his hunger grow. He wished it was nighttime. Then, Lukas managed an unsteady stand and examined him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” Mathias felt a wave of guilt, as he remembered how hard he had clutched his hips. “Did _I_ hurtcha?”

“No,” Lukas echoed his answer. “Emil’s not here anymore. If we get too rough, I’m afraid one of us will have to make a trip to the infirmary. I’d rather not have to explain how we sustained our injuries.” He wordlessly threw his cape over his shoulders and refastened the clasp. His hairpin had gotten crooked, and Mathias offered to fix it.

“Can’t have this out of place,” he chuckled. “It’s the one thing you always pay attention to.” He waited for his husband to recollect his sense, his condition faring better than the one on receiving end. When Lukas felt he was ready, he took a deep breath and undid the lock on the their bedroom. He stepped outside, conscious of his wrinkled clothes that he had no spells to fix.

“I’m a mess,” he muttered, wondering if anyone had heard him. He would have changed his wardrobe, but he had already been seen today. Someone would have noticed. Fortunately, as the afternoon was growing late, the public was wrapping up their studies to return home. Mathias followed after him, his mind refreshed and alert, having gotten his fill of his husband. If the gods were good, they might be able to go again tonight.

For now, Lukas headed straight for the throne, his own thoughts swirling over him like a personal raincloud. He barely noticed the eyes affixed on them, seeing as he had made a mistake during their intimate time together. Some castle residents saw them and gave them greetings and wishful blessings. Lukas hated the staring eyes, especially if he wore a smell about him. “Pick up the pace, Your Majesty,” Lukas growled through clenched teeth. He wore a pleasant enough smile that mirrored Mathias’ glowing aura. If he did not know any better, The Ornate had some odd sense of favor towards him.

When they at last reached the private court, Lukas let out a low and long breath, his hairpin needing to be adjusted once more. “That was rash of us. My damn hips...We shouldn’t have let our cocks get the better of us.”

Mathias smirked. “Look who's talking. You’re the one who started kissing me.”

“And who went for my clothes?” Lukas snapped back like a bothered snake.

Mathias, however, chose to tread. “I couldn’t help it. You smelled good.”

“Ha,” the Shadow dryly laughed. “You’re admitting it was you.” His normally pale face went pink when his stomach began to angrily churn and gurgle. “I’m hungry. I’d rather not dine with the Cauhlssons. They do more speaking than they do eating, and they’d have their guests do the same, I’m afraid.”

Mathias could not argue there, not that it mattered to him. He could get lost in conversation just as easily as any sociable noble. “Who’s the one who said you’ve gotta put up with all the inconveniences of being a king?”

“When I said it, it was meant for the actual king, not the king’s husband.” Lukas’ mouth twisted. “It seems I’m stuck doing everything you do. How will you survive without me?”

“I don’t have to worry about that, ‘cause ya always come back,” the Sun King trustingly grinned. He was wholly naïve, a regretful result of Lukas’ constant doting.

* * *

A crumpled piece of paper struck the waste bin with little fanfare except Mathias’ own internal celebration. However, he had nothing to celebrate with his current state of work. He had been given books on numbers and a journal on policies that Lukas had browsed to great attention. On top of that, he had not finished writing his return letter to Emil.

“Fuck me…” he muttered, tugging angrily at his hair. Lukas had written his in a matter of minutes, his language as beautiful as his handwriting.

“I’ll not pleasure you at this hour,” Lukas huffed. “Write from your heart; you seem to do better at that than with your head.” That had been the only advice his husband had given him before turning his attention to his journey ahead. Mathias still thought it was insane, what he was planning on doing.

_“You’re going to what?!”_

_“Calm yourself, you blabbering frog. I already said I was going alone.”_

_“Right, but when you said ‘alone,’ I didn’t think you meant_ alone- _alone! Lukas, what if something were to happen to you?”_

_“To that, I say I am the only living blood-bearer of The Ruined. There is no one who can be a threat to me—Well, no, I lied. There is, but they’re gratefully leagues across the ocean, ha. I still think my magic is stronger, and we have no business with them at the moment.”_

Mathias looked frustratingly to his husband now, who had immersed himself in a book on Belethrenic customs. He had least had the modesty to ask him about his own experiences in the Maes-run kingdom. He did so now, as if nothing had come of their frictional conversation. “Mathias, do you give gifts to Belethrenic nobles? If so, what sort of gifts do they like?”

“Hmm. Gee. If you brought someone who knew about Belethrenic customs along, you wouldn’t have to read about it.”

Lukas gave him a dark scowl. “Must you insist on resisting my attempts at independence? This isn’t for an individual occasion. _We_ may visit Belethren again, and should someone else not be in attendance, I will be able to know for the future.”

Mathias could have played this game forever, but as soon as he opened his mouth to usher another prod of resistance, his tongue fell in his mouth like a piece of dead meat. “And I…Uuuuuhhhhh…Whaa…? Haaah? Lukaaff!”

“Ha ha,” the Shadow laughed without a smile. “I can play this game, too. I’m going to win. Admit defeat so we talk like adults here.”

“Don’ you paffronifffs me!” Mathias stood and stomped his foot like a child. In his rage, he could not see how he was behaving. “I wanna go wifff you!”

“And I’ve said no how many times? The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better. This isn’t some pleasure cruise to Sar’ph, my dear king.” He tore his eyes to the side in thought. “Granted, there’s no reason why either of us should be playing into Tim’s hands so easily, but given his nature, I can’t think of anything else we can do besides go along with it. This would go badly if his character was poor.”

“Well heeeezzz nophh!” Mathias cried in defense for his friend, his brain ready to burst from being unable to speak.

The Shadow wore a devious expression. It was almost terrifying seeing him with such a sinister smile. “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I left you like this until I returned? Imagine, the Sun King giving out orders with a stone tongue. You’ll be called the Slosh King.”

“No!” the king wailed in utter misery. His husband seemed to thrive off of his suffering. At least he was looking like his normal self now. Perhaps The Ruined was working its blessings at last.

“I jest, Mathias. I don’t want to be known as the man who married a king with a slur.” He flicked his hand and released him from his hex. “There. How’s that?”

Mathias spat and coughed until he could feel his tongue again. It had been some time since Lukas had used that one on him. How long ago was that, now? Almost ten years, it seemed. “Don’t do that again. I got it. No whining.”

“Good. Now that you’ve understood that, finish up your letter so I can send mines, too. Mail to Morstur is difficult to deliver, so we should be as optimal as possible.” His eyebrows formed a groove when he recalled what Berwald had told him of their seafaring voyage. No wonder why Mathias had been so keen to hide the count’s letter from him. A kraken attack…There had been one when he and Emil had sailed for the mainland, as well. No doubt there was a connection between Emil and the attacks. “Why were you using cold fire, Emil…?”

Mathias picked up his ear. “What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Finish your letter, would you?”

Mathias finished his letter. There were more words he wanted to say, but he figured it would be better to wait until he would see Emil again. He could always invite him to his fifth anniversary. That would be a good pretext for coming to the capital.

But until then, there were more matters to attend to before Lukas’ ultimately eventual departure. He had to study economics, policies, and relations, all aspects of ruling that Mathias had left to his other half. By the time the Sun King had gotten a loose handle on how to run his kingdom without his husband, it was time for him to go.

“Tim likes flowers and good stationery,” Mathias finally told him on their last day together.

“Where’d that come from?” Lukas quizzically stared at him.

“Before, you asked about whether or not it was a good idea to give people gifts in Belethren. Figure I should tell you what Tim likes. O’ course, he likes money above all else, but let’s not be too generous here.”

He saw his husband smile. “Huh. Looks like you’ve learned a thing or two. Alright, I’ll have our finest parchment set ordered. I’m afraid I’ll refrain from giving him flowers. There’s not enough time to give him a proper bouquet, and I fear if I give His Majesty an arrangement, I’ll have to deliver something to his other siblings.”

“Fair.”

They had made love on their last night. Mathias took the time to feel Lukas up so that he would remember him for when he would return. He finished generously into his husband, a reminder that he would always be his. Lukas had already given himself away, his member weak and deflated moments before. He had no energy for conversation. He had poured himself into books and charts until his brain was spent. He fell asleep instantly, leaving Mathias already feeling abandoned. Hoping to hold onto the moment a little longer, he cradled him and let his slow breaths turn into his personal lullaby. Lukas would be leaving at daybreak. He prayed to The Arcane for a longer night.

Eventually, however, the early-rising birds woke and began to sing. Lukas slipped himself away from his husband and dragged him out of bed, knowing he wanted him there for his departure. They dressed mostly in silence, having felt groggy from their session in the night. They bathed and ate together, and when they were done with morning attendance, they rode out for the docks.

Lukas was taking _The Little Trumpet_ , a humble vessel that was meant for long fishing voyages of the solitary type. Mathias had ordered the construction of the stable-sized boat so he could go fishing with his companions or alone when he felt like it. So far, he had only sailed out three times. Lukas’ journey would be the fourth.

“You remember how to sail?” Mathias asked with a worrying look in his eyes. “It’s not like how it goes in the books. Ya need to feel the wind.”

“Had I not been dubbed the Shadow and his second-in-command, I might have been a weathermage, Your Majesty. If the seas are rough, I’ll turn then in my favor. And yes, to answer your question, I know how to sail.”

Mathias looked over Lukas’ shoulder at the sea ahead. Out beyond the Crodinian territories and the southmost reaches of the Surlith province, the Dead-End Strait, a wide stretch of sea that bore its way between the northern and southern kingdoms, rested ahead in Lukas’ path. “Write to me every day. _Every day._ I don’t care if you have nothing to say. I wanna read yer words. And use falcons, not owls. Those birds are dumb as dung.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Lukas waved dismissively. He had in his belongings a solitary blue-stained leather pouch. Being a master of arcane magic, he had used shrinking spells to store his wardrobe, provisions, and other gifts and supplies. This was not the first time he had made such a voyage, of course, as Mathias knew; he had had plenty of practice during their travels across the east to Altorien. He had been in worse circumstances before.

That did not stop Mathias from worrying. He hated having to worry, and he hated that he had to say farewell. “Promise ya won’t do anything stupid, Lukas.”

“Fine, I promise,” Lukas irritably smirked, his face riddled with contempt. “Nine Divine, you sound like a sick mother hen. And that’s _my_ line. Do not make your precious husband go sick with concern, lest I need to spend longer in Belethren to recover.”

“No…” Mathias lowly whined.

Lukas kissed him a final time. He stroked his cheek and then nuzzled his hair. He could be tender with affection when he was not shy. Then, he leaned his lips to his ear. “Do not set fucking fire to the kingdom, or so The Ruined help me, I will level you and the capital to the Saltborne Sea myself.”

Mathias was stiff when Lukas showed him his face, plain and calm like a still puddle. “I’m not gonna. You’ve got my word on that. No charms.”

“No charms,” Lukas echoed, stepping backwards and onto the boarding dock. When he was on _The Little Trumpet’s_ deck, he looked up to the castle whose towers could be seen on a clear day. He stared for a good minute without a word, and then, with a toss of his sack and a cast of a sail, he steered himself from the port and sailed out to the sea.

A jump came to his chest as Mathias burst from his spot and ran as far as the dock would carry him. He shouted Lukas’ name and waved his hands, throwing all manners of tidings and blessings towards his fortune. “Lukas! Lukas, I’ll think aboutcha every night, ya hear me?! Every hour, every minute, every second!” His lungs were hoarse by the time Lukas disappeared from view, his only returning response was a short wave in his direction. He thought about stealing a larger vessel and sailing out to catch up with him, but the wind was not in his favor. He would need a windmaster, and Lukas was as good as any.

“Lukas…” He called softly to himself than to the one who had left. He was gone. He had not had this feeling for years. He had always been there. Now, it was he who had a pillar of himself missing. Lukas was his foundation, his walls, his heart. His castle was starting to crumble already, weak as that made him out to be, especially in his metaphors.

 _No, what the fuck! You’re a Køhler! The Sun King! If Lukas sees ya like this when he comes back, he’ll never think I can do anything on my own!_ He slapped his cheeks as if to give himself a pick-me-up and absorbed the morning air. There was no _dracay_ blowing from the southerly ports, but the crispness of the fog lifted his spirits. “Right. I’m gonna show ‘im. Just you wait, Lukas, I’m gonna knock the stockings off yer feet when ya come back. It’s going to be the best damn kingdom you’ve ever seen!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know common names for Netherlands have been "Abel" or "Lars," but I've always thought that--especially given the context of his place in this story--it'd be funny to have his name be the most simplistic of all. Like his name is just "Tim," the supposed 2nd-coolest character in the Hetalia cast. (Himaruya's said that Estonia is the coolest character.)


	23. His Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukas arrives in Tyse to familiar faces and new problems.

Lukas was pleased with his progress, having made it across the Dead-End Strait in two days' worth of sailing. He had studied star charts and wind patterns as a young teenager, choosing to do so in the glowstone-lit evenings, while Mathias had chosen to exhaust his body through training. _Foolish king, you should have been training your mind, as well._ That may have been why he had worried about Mathias so. It was the same with his brother; them being unable to work their ways out of situations without the aid of a sharp mind.

 _Why couldn’t you manifest yourself instead of The Everlasting?_ he silently asked The Wrought as he sailed onward. He would have chosen The Arcane as his god of preference if he could, a wise and ancient god of magics and secrets. That line of blood had unfortunately gone to another family. How must they be faring at this moment, he wondered?

He thought of the other blood bearers and their blessings, shifting from one neighbor to another until he retraced his thoughts back to his brother and The Everlasting. _Dear brother, how are you doing out there? Not getting yourself into any mischief, I presume?_ Try to behave as he did, Emil had a way of falling into trouble when he let his good nature get the better of him. He wondered if that had been a side effect of his own personality or the influence of his ring, the damned thing.

When he was not thinking, Lukas busied himself with a book or two before his eyes grew heavy or nauseous from the bobbing waves. Though they were far from the open ocean, there were still wakes that traveled on stormy seas as far as the Blizzarding Seas. It was a wonder how the currents managed to regress out here, yet such was the way of the world. Otherwise, he took to looking at the stars, snacking, napping, or practicing anima spells. There was plenty of time to himself now. He had to admit, it was lonely without Mathias’ presence ever-nagging in his mind, but now that he had no excuse, he was offered the opportunity to find true peace.

In times like these, he sat idly in his cabin and allowed himself half an hour of thought at a time. There had been a practice like that in Altorien, he recalled. Even generals and war mongers took the time out of their pillaging and conquest days to sit and reflect on their inner selves. Could Mathias have benefitted from such a practice, he pondered? _Pah, and horses will fly._ His husband could not sit still enough to save his life. In fact, the opposite had happened many a time during the Sunset War.

His vessel, _The Little Trumpet_ , eventually took him out west along the northern stretches of Belethren, towards the capital city of Tyse. It was a flat landscape of buildings and waterways, networked from what was supposed to have been a large field. It was said that in times of recreation, The Nine Divine had taken up residence in the kingdom, and where they had danced and sung, lush crops and fauna were said to have sprouted from the very earth, granting it all forms of life. There was no surprise there, seeing who ran the kingdom now, Lukas thought, wondering how the Maes family was faring. He could count the times he had been to the capital and visited the royal family on one hand. Mathias had convinced Tim to let them come over and wander the capital for “a better perspective of the world,” as he had put it. They were not his usual choice of words, but he had said them to impress Bella at the time.

 _And how impressed are you now, princess?_ Lukas had seen the way Tim’s sister had looked at Mathias with aspiring eyes, enthralled by his boundless charisma and tasteless jokes. His rough manner of speaking must have won her affections over at some point, seeing as how her brothers were more underhanded in their tactics and speech. Of all Mathias’ suitors, Lukas would have thought she might have married him and joined Belethren and Crodinia together as one, but then the war happened, and Mathias had headed off with his father and Lukas. A year later, Tim had joined the back lines, mainly offering support in the form of artillery aid, cementing a cutting reminder of who had supplied Crodinia’s war efforts when manpower was not enough.

The rest was history, Altorien being divided, the new rulers taking their thrones and titles, and Mathias marrying Lukas almost immediately after his coronation. The Maes family had attended their wedding. Lukas remembered Bella being there, seeming to harbor no ill will towards the newlywed couple, or if she had, she had done an impeccable job of hiding her feelings. She had worn a lovely yellow dress that day, Lukas remembered, as she wanted to give blessings to the newly dubbed Sun King and his prospective reign.

These days, the relations between the northern kingdom and the flowering kingdom were as amicable as could be. Lukas only had to send a simple letter the diplomat’s way in order to gain passage into the northern ports. He was expecting a small party, if not one person, to meet him and escort him to the royal palace.

Had Lukas tried to gain rights of entry into the Unity of Dotriba, however, he would have had to submit papers to all three diplomats in the kingdoms, earn their approval through royal decree by respective ruler, and then wait to receive a mailed parchment with the official orders. It was, to be technical, a royal pain to handle. Any time there was business to be had in the unity, Mathias and Lukas had sent one of their royal couriers in their stead, or they may have waited a moon to make any progress on their own. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo appeared to sign whatever was thrown his way, as was in his lax nature. Francis Bonnefoy was also the same to an extent, except he took twice as long as his southern partner. Lukas did not want to think about what went on in Gilbert Beilschmidt’s head, however quickly and efficiently he managed to relay correspondence back and forth.

 _Ah, to be young and with a stick up your ass_ , Lukas thought to himself, the northern kingdoms far behind him now. He would be nearing the port of Tyse within the hour, if his calculations were correct. And they were.

Tyse, Lukas was open to admit, was a beautiful sprawl of canals, dikes, and stone-risen buildings. The colors were reminiscent of those found in the portside city of Nuravik, a place Emil had traveled to before crossing the Blizzarding Seas. Here, where the climate was more favorable, flowers were grown in baskets and raised beds all over the city, giving the landscape a warm feeling of nature and prosperity. The city was popular among traders and wealthy families who vacationed from Crodinia, and parts of western and southern Dotriba also sought tourism in the dike-laid capital.

Lukas used magic-risen wakes to steer _The Little Trumpet_ at a dock reserved for smaller vessels, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He made sure the sails were drawn and his vessel properly anchored before taking his belongings and exiting the deck. It was so simple and quick, he thought, being able to travel alone. Everything could be done on his own time, and he wondered now why he had not done so before. He could get used to this, if only Mathias would swallow his pride and allow him the privilege.

“Your Majesty, Lukas Bondevik, I presume?” A voice of perfect Crodinian called from beyond the docks and on solid ground—although the technicalities of solid ground were debatable since most of the city was held up by stones and binding magic. Lukas’ greeter was what he could only describe as a twisted copy of himself, a man with a fair nonathletic build, fluffy blonde hair swept to his side and concealing his right eye, and a peculiar gleam in his remaining chartreuse iris. He wore a plain striped suit with a clean wrinkle-free white vest, coupled with shoes not suitable for walking in. He had a businesslike smile that screamed shallow politeness, and to that, Lukas wanted to wipe the thin falseness off his face. A simple pry with the spell of hearts could have told him everything there was to know about this man’s thoughts, but he would rather not waste his efforts on someone like him.

“Yes, I am he,” he said, nonetheless, hoping to be escorted as quickly as possible.

The man clasped his hands together like a hostess from a noble’s house. “Wonderful. I take it your travels went without issue? It pains me to hear that you chose to travel alone and without advanced notice. I would have been more than happy to have sent an accompanying convoy your way.”

“And waste good men and resources? No, thank you. It would be a waste of everyone’s time,” Lukas said.

The man’s smile never left. _What reason do you have to be so jolly?_ “Spoken like a true Belethrenic, Your Majesty. Then, if you have no further baggage, might I escort you to the palace?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Lukas did not move until he had one more question answered. “To whom do I have the pleasure of having as my escort?”

At least, to Lukas’ twisted delight, he saw a faltering glimmer of hesitation in the man’s eye. But as quick as it came, it was quick to vanish. “I see. Someone didn’t inform you of my being here. I hope the fault was my brother’s, since it will be quicker to give him a proper scolding.”

“Ah.” Lukas wished he had had the sense to peer into his heart sooner. “My apologies, Prince Noah. It’s been too long.” Nevertheless, he gave the prince of Belethren an estranged look. “You didn’t have that hairstyle when I last saw you.”

“You noticed?” the prince’s eye lit up with a childish spark, breaking his earlier mature act. “I was hoping to fashion it in your likeliness. It definitely gives off a sense of mystery, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or disturbed by that interpretation, Your Highness.”

“Oh.” He continued to keep up his smile like a mask. “I meant it as a compliment. I’ve heard tales of your accomplishments, how you always work in the shadows as your title suggests, while your king takes most of the credit. You could say I saw something of myself in you, and I found comfort in following your example.”

 _Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, is that what you’re implying?_ Lukas raised an eyebrow. Now that made sense. He used to style his hair back in a leonine fashion befitting of his older brother, maybe even Mathias since he had also admired him from afar, but apparently something had changed since he had last seen him. “It sounds like you’ve some personal baggage. If you’ve come here addressing this and hoping I could help, then I'm afraid you're better off finding yourself another blood-bearer—The Fair, perhaps.”

“Nine Divine, you’re bold,” Noah laughed, whether amused or sarcastic, Lukas cared not to look further. “I didn’t mean to spout that bit about my life like that. Please forget I said anything. I simply thought I might be able to open myself up some, seeing as how we’re both in similar circumstances.”

 _Do you want me to forget or not? And I see no similarities besides the secret we share._ “I see. Perhaps we can exchange such experiences when I’ve free time, but before that, you were going to show me to your home?”

Noah Maes’ smile was straight and polite. His cheerful demeanor did not reach his eye. “Yes, let’s get going. I hope you’ve a keen eye for sightseeing because we’re going to be doing a fair amount of it.”

 _How wonderful._ “I didn’t realize sightseeing would be part of my escort package. I might have brought a painter along to capture scenic moments for Mathias to view.” He noticed there was no litter, carriage, or horses to be found anywhere. “Did you come here on foot?”

“Ah. That.” Noah cleared his throat. “All carriages are in use, I’m shamefully embarrassed to say. But, since you haven’t been here in a while, I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to give you the grand tour.”

“I couldn’t possibly have you do that,” Lukas tried to refuse him as gently as possible. _Spare me your trivialities, prince. Let’s get to where I need to go._ “Had you been a common courier, perhaps I would take you up on it, but someone in your position has no obligation to do this for a guest of my bearing.”

Noah was stubborn. “I insist. You haven't been here in some time, so it’s the least I can do. And we might get to know each other some, while we walk, might we not?”

“Fair enough. It’d be good to catch up, since I haven’t had the time to check up on many relations of my own.” Lukas possibly could have cared less, but he could not think of anything else he would rather not think about. Bugs, perhaps, but the city appeared clean enough that he could not see any, save for the occasional bees and butterflies that swarmed the city’s flowers. He thought to talk about that first, hoping to distract his escort from prying into his personal life. “You’ve a lot of flowers blooming around the kingdom, I’ve seen. Not just tulips; I see feather grass, whispering violets, marbled zinnias…”

The prince looked impressed. “You sure know your flowers. Here, I’ve been out and about this city for my entire life, and I’ve not learned the names of most flowers we grow.” He looked at an arranged bed that rested in the middle of the cobblestone street. “But yes, you’re right, Tyse is particularly beautiful with its arrangements. My ancestor, Raleigh Maes III, was known as the Meadow King. He wanted to raise moral for the kingdom and improve the health of his daughter, who had fallen ill from a pox. With his efforts, he raised hundreds of flower beds like the one you see here, all over the city until every alley and corner was filled with color. True to his motives, the city’s population became happier, and his daughter recovered, seemingly from her desire to look at all the flowers. It’s a sweet tale, no?”

“It’s a lovely story,” replied Lukas. Gods be good, Noah's ability to extend conversations could give Mathias a run for his money. He had faint memories of him, but he was certain he had been a quiet kid. That must have been why he could not recall too much about him; there had been nothing to truly glean from him. Now, that boy had grown, and while he exuded a more outspoken aura than in the past, there was something distant about him.

The Shadow allowed his royal escort to guide him along roads and alleyways. He spoke to some length of the architecture and culture of his people, all while enjoying the comforts of anonymity. Noah had always been a reserved creature, and never made too many public appearances as his brother and sister had. For that and now, Lukas was grateful. He was tired of onlooking eyes that swarmed to him and Mathias whenever they went out. To be able to tour Tyse without needing to put up his guard set some of his mind at ease.

It was about an hour of walking and carrying the conversation before Lukas at last saw the palace. It looked like a grander version of the buildings rowed along the city roads: the main bulk of it was as a singular long box with three stories—two of which were grander than the first floor—and fancy golden trimmings that could very well have been brass, knowing how the Maes family operated. _Someone might have stripped the gold and sold it off_ , the cynical part of Lukas believed. He also made note of the Maes banner, a rich purple cloth with three golden crowned lions, the very embodiment of wealth, as far as banners went.

The palace was surrounded by a simple iron-barred fence that offered little protection except from the common masses. Had Crodinia not been on good terms with the flowering kingdom, they could have easily crossed the sea and invaded. There were not any battleships or artillery poised in the northern direction where Lukas had docked, something that both shocked and surprised him, considering the power of the Belethrenic naval forces.

“Home sweet home,” Noah wistfully sighed as he saw the palace within view. “I asked Tim of his time in your castle, when he last visited—what was it—some three moons ago? He spoke of wonderful stone walls and spires built with magic, and your capital of Markal has its fair share of colors despite the snows.”

“You should verify his claims by visiting, yourself,” said Lukas, wondering if his invitation would spare him the rest of the conversation, but this only seemed to excite Noah all the more.

“I’ve never been to Markal despite my living not a day or two at sea away. I haven’t had much spare time to steal away for myself, what with my responsibilities and all. But perhaps I can make an exception if the Shadow were to give me good reason to go. A discussion of frost-resistant flowers, perhaps? Finer steel imports?”

Lukas gave Noah an approving smile to extend his courtesies. “I can arrange something.” It was the first time he had truly seen Noah smile.

There were but two guards stationed outside the palace gates, of whom Noah passed through without any trouble. He led his party of one up the graveled road to the main entrance. The lawn was spread with flowers—tulips mainly—of varying shades of pinks, reds, yellows, and whites. Lukas saw a few black ones among them, thinking them to be a new strain Tim had developed. _Huh. They’d fit right in at Bondevik Castle. I should ask Uncle if he’d like some._

Noah turned heel to his guest. “Here at last. Thank you for putting up with me on our detour. I assure you we don’t typically treat our royal guests this way.”

“I’m sure,” came Lukas’ reply. He waited for the doorman to open both palace doors at once, the wood a heavyset ferroak with glass undoubtedly forged in Arbren. The insides of the palace were decorated with ornate furnishings of flowers trimmed in laced gold and purples. There were flecks of bright oranges and bronze mixed it, giving the entire space a regal feeling. It was unlike the cool stony walls of Markal, where the only decorations were portraits of former kings and tapestries of existing houses.

Here, however, every wall was decorated with some degree of painting, light fixture, banner, tapestry, hanging sculpture, or ornament. It was enough to make Lukas vomit from how busy everything looked. He did admit there were some pieces that caught his eye, though there was nothing here he would have been envious to lack in his own home.

“My brother should be able to see you shortly. I’ll send to look for him. In the meantime—”

 _“Eeeee!_ Lukas!” A shrill scream pierced the air and Lukas’ eardrums. He had heard that voice before. He barely had time to react before he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist. Three kisses dotted his cheeks: right, left, right. He could hardly believe it. If not for his being a guest, he might have swatted the person away, and it was a good thing he did not, because once he saw who had apprehended him, he immediately knew who it was.

“…It’s good to see you, Bella.” He heard a soft rustling of something scurrying under his legs. The jangling of a collar rung like a bell in his ears, and when he looked down, he saw a large dark brown dog with the fluffiest fur he had ever seen.

“This is Pelutze,” Noah introduced him. “He’s the family dog, though I think he prefers my company over others, seeing as how I raised him. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.” He stopped when he saw Bella latched onto Lukas in a vice-grip, her bony hands surprisingly strong. “Dear sister, don’t manhandle our guest,” Noah gently scolded her, not daring to approach the two of them with his own hands. He instead sheepishly looked to Lukas. “My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty. That is a customary greeting we have with familiars around here. She’s been talking to great lengths about what you would look like when she saw you again. It seems you’ve met her expectations.”

“You’re both forgiven, so as long as I don’t have to return that greeting,” Lukas breathed when the princess of Belethren released him. “You look well, Bella, not that that should come as any surprise. It’s you, after all.” The siblings gave each other a silent look before Bella spoke.

“I’m sorry, Lukas,” she wore an embarrassed smile, “it’s just that it’s been so long! You and Matti never visit; I was beginning to think you didn’t care about us.”

“She still uses that nickname?” Lukas turned to Noah who gave a chortle.

“Sorry, we’ve never corrected her because we found it endearing. I can offer to correct her if you so choose.”

“Don’t speak like I’m not here!” Bella pouted, her curious cat-like lips squeezed into a puckering face. Now she looked like a fish.

“Since he’s not here, you can call him whatever you like, as long as it’s not derogatory—that’s a privilege only meant for me,” Lukas told her directly.

Bella laughed. Her heart was the easiest to read of all the Maes siblings, spell or not; she had always been prone to being genuine. As far as any of the royal siblings were concerned, she was the luckiest of them all, as well. The god’s blood flowed strongest in her veins, and she was always without inherent want. “I’ll stick with ‘Matti,’ then. “Oh, but how rude of me! I haven’t even asked how you’ve been doing! How are you doing, Lukas?”

“I’m managing.” His eyes darted up and down the foyer. “I don’t suppose your older brother is free right now?”

“He’s off at the foreign affairs building dealing with some import-export stuff.” Bella had never been great at her economics curriculum; her brothers, fortunately, had picked up the slack for her. “But we can talk until he returns. Someone will tell us when he’s free.”

Lukas saw no point in pushing his agenda, now that two of the royal Maes siblings were in his presence. “We can do that. Perhaps you’ll show me to my lodging while we wait?”

Bella whipped her head to her brother. “I’ll show him to his room. Why don’t you get the kitchen to prepare a lunch for Lukas? We can eat in the sunroom when he’s done settling in.”

The Shadow saw a hint of reluctance in Noah’s eye. He did not move as immediately as he might have. “I thought you might have wanted me to escort him, seeing as how you’ve a better taste in confectionaries than I do. And you have a way of getting the kitchen staff to make what you want. Me, I’ll be half an hour into coaxing them into doing favors for me. Might we switch places just this once, dear sister?”

“What?” she balked. “You’ve had him for the greater part of an hour, and you’re going to squeeze more time with him away from me?” _So she knew we walked_ , Lukas thought. “Noah, you’re a grown boy; do what I told you.”

Her brother’s polite façade cracked a sliver, and for a moment, Lukas saw the smile fade from his face that wore no wrinkles. “My apologies. You’re right, that is selfish of me. But do not complain if lunch is not served late because of your decision.” With a detestable aura, he briskly disappeared down one hall with Pelutze trailing after him, and Bella took Lukas down another.

 _Is this one of the many personal issues you were hinting to me, Noah?_ “He seems fond of me,” Lukas could not help saying aloud.

Bella giggled. When she spoke Crodinian, her accent was noticeable unlike Noah’s, but it was oddly endearing. “Oh, we’ve always been fond of you, Lukas. You’re the most mysterious one of us all. Well, there’s your brother, too, but I’ve heard he’s left for Morstur these days, so you’re the next best thing.”

The Shadow bristled. Since when had news of Emil’s departure reached Belethren? It had been made known to select residents in the castle that Emil had left to study under his father’s tutelage, but never had there been any significant reason for the information to have passed over to Belethrenic ears. _Unless Mathias told Tim something I wasn’t aware of?_ “Emil is an adult now. It’s about time he’s learned how to govern under his father’s wing. He’s to be the next high lord of Staven.”

“Yes, I know. I’d say that’s exciting, but Morstur is that cluster of islands beyond the Blizzarding Seas, isn’t it? It’s not boring or lonely out there for the little prince?”

 _Oh yes, it’s painfully boring and lonely. Why do you think I took him away from there in the first place?_ “He’s always been a reserved and modest man. The peace and quiet will do him some good. The scenery is also beautiful this time of year.”

Bella giggled again, a fit box of worms, this one. Lukas could not be sure if she found that amusing or not. If so, the thought sickened his stomach that she should think Emil would enjoy living in such a miserably isolated place. “He’s not alone, is he? I could have sword Tim mentioned something about another…boy, was it? Or not a boy. A pet! Emil has a pet, doesn’t he? Is he cute? Shy? Handsome?”

“Attractive enough that my brother chose him above the others,” Lukas tried to answer. “He’s very sharp, that much I am certain.”

“Sharp as in smart? How did you figure that?”

 _What does it matter to you?_ “My brother was teaching him to be a talker, that he might hold conversation with him when he so chose.”

Bella seemed fascinated by the statement. “You can teach them to talk? That’s amazing,” she breathed in what sounded like authentic awe. 

_Are you that insensitive, or were you seriously that clueless?_ “They’re human, Bella, not savages. Even those you claimed as fel’n are as capable as normal human beings.”

“Yes, but I had no idea they were capable of speech. The ones we have here are…dare I say dull?”

“Perhaps you ought to give them the opportunity to speak before you make such a claim.”

But Bella was stubborn. “I’m serious, Lukas. They’re actually _dumb_.”

“Huh.” Something twisted in Lukas’ stomach.

Her Highness showed Lukas to his room that was situated on the west wing. He had a room facing the backside of the palace that looked out into the lustrous palace gardens. There were fountains, hedges, and tulips arranged in a sort of maze, that guests might get lost in the colorful landscaping. He wondered if one or both of the siblings might offer to give him a tour of the gardens.

“We change out the flowers every time we have a new king,” Bella explained while Lukas recited unshrinking spells. He was rearranging his clothes and supplies throughout the room. There was an empty wardrobe and a shelf for guests to place belongings. It was safe for him to put his book and outfits on display, so even should a cleaning maid enter, anything that was taken would not be missed. “You already know Tim’s the Tulip King, so it was only fitting that he planted tulips everywhere. I like them, too. You can make so many colors, and we have festivals and competitions revolved around them. It makes me wonder why you’ve never visited during one of them; we hold the festival like clockwork every year without fail.”

“My apologies, we’ve not had the time to think about the audience of other kingdoms. That I’m here is a big deal back at the castle, as it is. I left Mathias to hold the kingdom down, and I pray he doesn’t do anything rash without my counsel. You can only imagine what it must be to have to build up the trust of another to run a kingdom.”

Bella blinked her large green eyes. They were a deeper green than both her brothers’. “But Mathias is the king, anyway, isn’t he? Why should it matter that you took a trip?”

 _Because he trusts me too much to make decisions on his own, a mistake I made with Emil, and I’m paying for it now._ “A good king holds the opinions of his people and not just himself. I am there to help him practice that.”

Though the princess did not look wholly convinced, she had redirected her thoughts to another topic, one that Lukas had dreaded would eventually show its vile head. “Even if everything doesn’t work out, at least you have something to fall back on. It must be lucky to have the blessings of a god that thrives on what you’ve destroyed.”

“It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, Your Highness. The Ruined craves that destruction. My blessings work in ways that are not always so tangible—that’s what your family enjoys concerning itself with, doesn’t it? I hardly ever hear His Majesty talk about internal issues, but whether you have them or not, The Ruined manifests itself in my relationships and emotions.

“Tell me, Bella, do you think you could be happy knowing those you love could be torn away from you? Or that their love may have been a fabrication of your own destruction? Would it be worth it for paltry bouts of prosperity and flashes of happiness? That is how The Ruined’s blessings work.”

The princess’ eyes were wide with an emotion Lukas chose not to read too into. He had said his honest piece of his blood, and how she took his information would be entirely up to her. To his somewhat satisfied relief, she had not found it in herself to make a response, not even when Noah returned with Pelutze and news of his brother’s whereabouts. “Well, good news and bad news. Which would you like to hear first?”

“The bad,” as was in Lukas’ nature to receive.

“His Majesty will not be free until this evening.” Noah contrasted this inconvenience with a perked smile. “The good news is we’ll be joining him at the Glass Gardens. He’s somewhere close by and thought that would be a good place for us to congregate.”

Bella clasped her hands together. “Ooh, the Glass Gardens! It’s been so long since we’ve been there! Lukas, you’ll love it, too. Oh, there’s painted glass and streams with ponds and lilies…!”

“Spare our guest all the details, Bella, or His Majesty will lose all semblance of wonderment.” Noah had some more good news. “Lunch will be served in the sunroom if you are done here.”

“I’m done unpacking,” Lukas told him, and he followed the siblings and their family dog to the first floor.

“It must be so convenient having magic,” Bella swooned, describing to her brother how Lukas had effortlessly brought forth books and clothes from a single bag. “We have to hire a mage with us whenever we go traveling, but you can be a common caster, windmaster, and mage knight all on your own. Lukas, you’re amazing.”

“You flatter me, Bella.”

Noah added, “No, we don’t mean to butter you up. The truth is we’re rather envious of your magical prowess. You’d think that with two of three siblings bearing the strain of fortune, one of us would have also been born with magical abilities.”

“It would be more surprising than fortunate, I’d think,” said Lukas, recalling that the Maes family was similar to the Køhlers, in that the royal family did not carry an inherent line of magical blood. There _was_ a magical university in the Kingdom of Belethren, though he was sure that none of the Maes siblings had attended it. “You three appear to be doing well without magic as it stands. Do not think that my abilities overcompensate for the blood I bear.”

“Dear me, I would never imply that,” Noah lifted his thin brow.

Bella was a fit a giggles. “Noah’s been talking about you ever since he heard Tim had invited you here. Truth be told, I think he’s happier that you came alone. He said Mathias frightened him, last he saw him.”

“Hmm. I’ll apologize on his behalf.”

“Sister, don’t tease me,” Noah muttered in Belethrenic and hid his embarrassment with a befuddled smile.

Bella continued on, anyway. “You’ve noticed Noah’s hair, haven’t you? Isn’t it cute how he styles it like yours? I thought it looked familiar, but when I saw you, it confirmed my suspicions! He’s been prattling on about you, saying how worried he was when he’d see you again, what you’d think of him, and this and that. Did you recognize him at all, even, when he went to greet you?”

“To be honest, no. His hair used to be styled like Tim’s, wasn't it?”

The princess laughed. “It was! Oh, it was so cute, too, but it looks like my little brother’s found another role model.”

“Sister…” Noah muttered under his breath. His cheeks wore a flush of pink, a gesture that cemented his younger status in the family.

“You’re torturing him, Bella.” Lukas also spoke in Belethrenic this time, though his pronunciation was not as confident as Mathias’. His fingers touched the Crodinian Cross hairpin he wore. “But I have to wonder, why me, Noah? I’m hardly fit to serve as a role model for anyone.”

He caught Noah’s voice soften into a mumble. “I think I told you something of the sort when we were alone.” He let out a sigh. “This was why I wanted to be the one to escort you to your room. My sister, she’s…”

 _Nosey? Noisy?_ In truth, he did not mind Bella’s excitability, though it could be overwhelming. He had peered into her heart a few times when he had last visited, thinking her to be the most able suitor for Mathias when he was only the crown prince. She had an easygoing air about her that allowed her to be pushed around if given the chance, but her intentions were always well-meaning. _Possibly because she has no reason to use nefarious means to get what she wants. Those things just come to her._

Noah cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I might’ve said she was prone to chattering, but that’d make me cruel and a hypocrite. I talked your ear off on our walk.”

“I didn’t mind.” Lukas Bondevik did, in fact, mind.

The sunroom was a splendid attraction of transparent glass and a tiled floor with patterns indicative of Arbrennish design. Hanging pots of flowers and ornamental grasses dangled from thin chains all along the metal beams, giving the room a sense of nature and tranquility. It was slightly warmer in here, being exposed to the sunlight but also containing insulation from the outdoor elements. A tray of sandwiches, cakes, and cookies were already prepared, of which Lukas was allowed to choose from first. He took one of everything in politeness, nibbling first on a sandwich of brown sliced bread and cheese. The food, however well-arranged it was, had a simplicity to its design. _They_ are _delicious, I’ll admit._ That in mind, there were no dishes here that Lukas could not have been able to make on his own—save for the curious crisped logs sitting on toasted buns.

Noah offered one to him with a gesture of his hand. “ _Broodje kroket_. I suppose it translates into something along the lines of ‘croquette sandwich,’ ha ha. The main stuffing is a common fried roll of dough and assorted meats. We prefer ours with veal here.” He fed a halve to Pelutze, which he quietly and calmly ate, a spitting reflection of his owner.

Lukas took one, as well, and sampled it. The flakes must have been fried breadcrumbs from old loaves, but the taste was delicious enough that he could see children enjoying this. It was apparently a favorite among the royal family, as well.

When the last of the cakes were eaten, Bella suggested they take a walk in the hedge mazes. “Don’t worry, we won’t get lost. We’ve played in the grounds enough that we know all the best hiding spots, don’t we, Noah?”

“Yes, but let’s not play any games of hide-and-seek, shall we? We’re not children anymore.” Lukas tried to recall how old the Maes siblings were. Tim was about the same age as Mathias, so around twenty-five. Bella was about one year younger than him, he believed, making her twenty-two. _She should have found a suitor by now, knowing how Tim operates. Someone rich would earn the family the highest marks._ And Noah, the youngest and most put-together of them was undoubtedly older than Emil. He was no teenager, that much Lukas knew. He approximated his age to be somewhere around twenty or twenty-one.

“Have you had a chance to see any of the tulip gardens around Tyse, Lukas?” Bella asked when they came upon one such bed.

“I’ve seen some here and there, but we hadn’t had the time to stop and look.”

“Well, here’s one now,” the princess curled her lips into a cat-like smile. “Tim’s changed a bunch of the flowers into tulips to fit his title. He keeps special breeds under lock and key. You won’t see them growing in any of the city beds or the gardens.”

Lukas looked at the ones in front of him now. There were the common whites, yellows, pinks, reds…all common colors of the sunset and cheerful hues. He recalled the dark purple one he had seen in the front. “If he doesn’t have his special breeds here or in the public, where would he grow them?”

Noah rolled his eyes. “He has a separate space beneath the palace where he conducts experiments when he’s free. Else, he devotes his time to arithmetic and writing poetry.”

“Oh, you weren’t supposed to disclose that about him!” Bella hushed him with a whisper in Belethrenic. "He's very protective of his image!"

“Ah,” Lukas’ ears perked up, “that reminds me: I have a gift for your brother when we see him next. I’m afraid I didn’t bring the two of you anything but my company.”

The siblings smiled. “Your company’s plenty, Your Majesty,” Noah’s lips were a crescent line. “There’s nothing you could give us that we wouldn’t already have in some form or fashion.”

Lukas adjusted his robe and watched the Belethrenic prince. _I can think of a few things._ “You’ve been singing praises of me, but I should be the one telling you how fortunate your family is.” Bella laughed and blushed. Noah smirked.

The siblings entertained Lukas throughout the afternoon, bouncing quips and reflections off one another. Their relationship appeared so smooth and effortless, nothing like the protective stance Lukas had to form with Emil to keep him safe. _Emil, are you alright out there? Are you getting enough to eat? Is the house warm? Is Leon keeping you company?_ His throat felt dry when he thought of his gift. Those golden eyes. He had to know more about them. He had not seen any pets with golden eyes around Tyse. They did have pets in the capital, though the part about Bella mentioning that they were not intelligent disturbed him. To what notion had she implied by that?

When evening fell, a servant came to inform the trio of the hour, and Noah was the first to take initiative. “I’ll ready a carriage for us. No walking this time, Lukas, you have my promise. Erm, but perhaps you would like to go with me and pick from our selection? Most of them should have returned to the palace now that the hour is late.”

 _He wants to talk with me._ “Bella, do you mind waiting for us while we retrieve our transportation?”

His sister made a pouted face. “Noah, you really expect me to sit back here and wait? Wouldn’t it be better if we all went together?”

“The stables are on the west wing, and the road out is in the front, Bella. You can go to the main entrance and wait for us there, so you don’t have to walk as much. Your feet must be hurting from all the strolling we did this afternoon. I don’t want your heels to blister, especially when you have dancing practice to attend to.”

“I’m not as delicate as I appear, brother.” Lukas studied her. She may have been the middle sibling, but she was shorter than her brothers. He plain mousy brown hair and large eyes gave off an impression of a trembling doe. She may have possessed the iconic brilliant green eyes that her family was known for, but if Lukas’ research had proven fruitful, she lacked the drive that her brothers conducted _._

“I’m not saying you’re delicate, sister,” Noah spoke in their mother tongue, “I’m saying that it would be more efficient if you would wait for us at the front of the palace.”

“And what about Lukas? He’s a guest. You shouldn’t make him walk. Who knows how exhausted he must be?”

Lukas was, indeed, exhausted, but he could keep going. The Maeses had been kind enough to give him coffee during lunch, a delicious bright blend with acidic notes. He loved coffee more than ale, he believed, and secretly wished he could bring a shipment home with him. “I’m fine. I’d like to go with Noah, if you don’t mind, Bella. Don’t take my preference as a slight.”

Having been had, the princess stomped off in a beeline towards the palace entrance. Her brother hastily led Lukas to the west wing and stables, Pelutze trailing behind as his jangling collar rang at their heels. “Terribly sorry about that, Lukas. She’s so used to getting what she wants, that I fear she’ll explode one day when she’s denied in just the wrong way. I’m amazed you managed to pull that off. Did you use a charm?”

“Just the one regarding my good looks and silver tongue,” he joked, earning a genuine laugh from Noah.

“Then there’s hope for me, yet, friend.”

Lukas looked to him as they walked. “You wanted to speak to me about something, I presume?”

“Ah. You presume correctly. Yes, you see, I was wondering if you might demonstrate your signature magic for me.”

The Shadow withheld himself from making a face other than standing neutral. “Am I allowed to ask why, first?”

“Your magic is a manifestation of your blood. There’s, what, three other people I’m aware of who have the same ability. I’ve always wanted to see tangible proof of one’s blood connection.”

“Sure, but why, again?”

“Because my own abilities are shallow. You must have known it by now, but my standing and presence isn’t as pronounced as Bella’s. I know I’m a bearer, but it gets harder to believe when I haven’t seen my blessings shine as much as they have for my sister.” He gestured to the Shadow. “And yet here you are, the Shadow in all his glory. A magnificent specimen of destruction and creation in one. Perhaps seeing your power manifest will inspire my blessings to do the same.”

Lukas raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see why not.” He conjured a small fragment of dark ice, barely smaller than a toothpick. He brought it forth from his left palm and handed it to his blood-bearing counterpart.

“Fascinating,” Noah breathed, examining the shard. “You can make it that small? Tim’s said you’ve made pillars and bridges of this stuff…”

“I have, but I pray to the gods that there will never be a day where I’ll need to do that again.” No one outside of Crodinia’s rulers and high lords needed to know what had become of Emil and his recent transformation.

Noah held onto the shard like the most precious gift in the world. He had thankfully dropped the topic of blood bearing nonsense, and instead focused on what sort of food they might eat at the Glass Gardens. “Belethrenic food is delicious, Your Majesty. We’ve had cuisine imported from the greater parts of the kingdoms and chefs putting on shows for us, but none compare to the delicacies and even comfort foods of our home kingdom.”

“If what we had for lunch was anything to go by, I can believe it,” Lukas politely put. He did not mind the lunch, though he had wished there were more cakes and hearty dishes served. Mathias would have complained about the lack of meat _._

“That’s a relief to hear,” the prince exhaled. “I was afraid you might have taken that as a slight against your cuisine. In truth, I’ve not had many opportunities to try your kingdom’s cooking. The imports we get from time to time are only as genuine as the traders claim them to be.”

“Then next you visit, Mathias and I will personally make something for you. We’re both decent bakers.”

Noah’s eyes grew wide. “I had no idea you both found the time to bake. Another merit I can add to my growing list of admirations towards you.”

Lukas felt his cheeks grow warm, a feeling he thought he had only reserved for his beloved husband and dear little brother. “Please don’t take this as rude, but I’ve never known you were so smitten by your northerly neighbors. You never write, never visit, never send us invitations…”

The prince averted his green gaze with a hint of reservation. “That’s true, isn’t it?” he acknowledged. “I’d give you the excuse that I’ve been busy, but I suppose in truth, my nature’s as reserved as my brother’s. I’ve been trying to work on it, and I suppose being given the chance to see you again, I’d be able to practice myself.”

“I’d say you’re doing well, Your Highness.” _You’re certainly more talkative._

“Thank you for bearing with me,” Noah smiled.

They chose a covered carriage with plush red velvet seats and a slick ebony design on the exterior. Two chestnut geldings pulled the carriage to the front where Bella was waiting, hands on hips. She looked almost dignified if not for the sour expression on her face. “Did you sneak some lemon drops as an appetizer, dear sister?” Noah teased her when the coachman opened the door for her.

“Ha ha,” she turned her nose up and sat herself next to Lukas. As they rode towards the Glass Gardens, she asked, “What were you two talking about?”

“Plans, dreams, and aspirations for the future,” Noah whimsically answered, a far-off look about his unveiled eye. “Did you know Their Majesties of Crodinia are esteemed bakers?”

“I didn’t say I won any awards,” Lukas said, but both siblings ignored his comment.

“We should bake something!” Bella suddenly exclaimed with a clap of her hands. All animosity towards her brother had vanished. “There are so many things I’ve been wanting to try in the kitchen that could please the guests—oh! Lukas, this is perfect! We can teach each other how to bake goodies from our own kingdoms!”

The Shadow shifted in place. Though he knew he had come here with a specific purpose in mind, her enthusiasm was infectious. She did not deserve to be turned down, as she had done no ill, and it would behoove him to stay on good terms with her as Mathias had the entire family. _Be open about it but not direct._ “Should I have time outside of my duties, I would be happy to indulge in learning how to make some of your kingdom’s confectionaries.”

“That settles it: I’m going to teach you how to make waffles.” Bella’s mind seemed to be set.

Noah narrowed his eyes to Lukas. “She’s going to get what she wants. The Bountiful favors her a great deal. Prepare yourself, Your Majesty.” Lukas curled his lips into a smile. A part of him actually looked forward to it. Was that part of the siblings’ blessings taking effect, or had his own blessings taken fruit?

The carriage stopped in front of a stone building of no visible glass construction, save for some narrow windows. “Huh. I’ll have to say I’m a little disappointed,” Lukas dryly remarked when he stepped outside. “When I heard you call it the Glass Gardens, I envisioned a building of glass-like architecture.”

“This is merely the front, Your Majesty,” Noah chuckled. “The real gardens are situated in the back. Think of them as greenhouses of sorts, but instead of hosting plants, we host dinner parties.”

Bella led the way, her plainness hidden by her cheerful, boundless energy. Lukas had not had the time to study her so closely, but now that the princess of Belethren was walking among nobles with lavish dresses and stylized hairstyles, he could see how simple she truly appeared. She was wearing the same satin spring green dress she had greeted him in. _But then, she doesn’t need to be fancy._ He watched her practically skip down the stone arched entrance and speak with an attendant. Without any fanfare or flair, the attendant started to lead her somewhere deeper within the building. Bella waved her companions over, the nobles not taking any notice of her.

Lukas turned his head to Noah, who also walked in without any reserve. “You simply walk yourself wherever you need to go?”

A green eye moved in his direction. “What do you mean by that?”

“Our Hummrelish allies are rather protective of their public appearances, but you and your sister appear to walk about as if you’re typical commonfolk. You even came to personally escort me through the open streets.”

Noah chuckled. “So we’re like a certain husband of yours in that regard, then?”

Lukas would have made a face, had he been in his other half’s presence. “Mathias draws more attention than the two of you combined. He likes the company of his subjects, yes, but wherever he goes, he knows how to draw a crowd. He stands out like that. It was one of the reasons why I thought it was best he didn’t come.”

The royal prince of Belethren hummed in consideration. “I suppose that’s true. However much we’ve tried, Bella and I don’t stand nearly out as much as some would think. I’d say it’s a trade-off for being what we are, but then, it’s not something either of us would consider _bad.”_

“I can’t say it’s bad—more interesting, is all.”

Noah gave a light sigh. “I have my own theories as to why I happen to or choose to keep a low profile. Bella, however, is…Bella.”

“Hurry up, you two! You’re so slow!” Bella called after them.

“Forgive my lack of athleticism,” her brother smiled away the remark. He and Lukas walked with her in the same pace as before. They reached a curtain of glass beads on translucent thread that twinkled with each passerby. There were two attendants on opposing sides of the curtain, lifting and returning its two halves as people came and went. Lukas craned his head above and stared at the many colors, all sparkling like an iridescent rainbow. _Emil, you would have loved this. You’ll be seeing colors come late fall, though, won’t you?_

He had seen the northern lights in Morstur but once in his lifetime, when his mother had been pregnant with Emil. There was some old wives tale on the main island that when a woman was to give birth, she could not look upon the lights, or her birthing process would be painful. Something like that. So he had looked at the skies every night, watching over for her in hopes that he could warn her ahead of time. However, by the time his baby brother had been born, the sun started to show itself more and more until it chased the night skies away, and Emil had been born bathed in sunlight in the high lord’s chambers, a quiet and meek thing even before discovering he was the vessel of The Everlasting.

 _I wish you were here_ , he thought, his heart aching. He had to tuck his wishes away, however, for beyond the glass beaded walls was an expansive maze of colorful glass sheets, fastened to pillars and what could only have been binding magic. Beyond some of the glass, he could make out a flow of streams traveling between walkways and flowing into lovely ponds covered with tulips, daisies, posies, lupines, and violets. He could see his reflection in some of the panes; others, he could see refractions of images beyond transparent layers.

Noah leaned to him and whispered into his ear, “Look down if you’re confused. It’s easy to detect where you’re going if you see where the glass meets the floor.”

“I’m not falling for that,” Lukas could not help saying. He had played silly tricks like that on Mathias when they were younger. He would say something along the lines of “There’s jam on your shoe,” and flick him across the nose when he was looking down.

But the prince looked visibly confused. “Erm…Sorry?”

“Oh. No, _I’m_ sorry. I thought you were playing a trick on me.”

“Huh.” Noah blinked in fascination. “You’ll have to educate me on that when we’re free. That’s one I could perhaps play on my sister.”

 _Would someone blessed with The Bountiful be able to subject herself to such a cheap trick?_ “Be sure to remind me, then, Prince Noah.”

Tim was sitting in a glass booth that branched itself far from the main building and glass maze. The walls were built of multiple layers of glass that made light warp the surrounding images. Like the entrance, there was another curtain of glass beads that barred peeping eyes away from their audience. The Tulip King was sitting with a pipe in hand, puffing away at what smelled like fairy’s feather. He was dressed in a two-pieced Belethrenic suit of dark gray, almost charcoal black. Around his neck was his favorite thick scarf of rich violet and white striping; it defined him more than any of his other physical traits, even his upright-combed hair and scar dashed over the right side of his forehead. Lukas had never thought to learn or ask of the king’s scar, though it had been there even before the war began.

“Hey,” he gruffly greeted the three when they entered.

Bella immediately puffed up like a frog. “Don’t ‘hey’ Lukas! He came all the way from Crodinia, and all you can manage is a ‘ _hey?’_ Honestly, Tim!”

“Hey, Lukas,” said Tim. Mathias would have laughed.

“It’s a pleasure seeing you again, Your Majesty,” the Shadow bowed with grace, using his best Belethrenic. “How’ve things been since I last saw you?”

“Busy. Always busy.”

Noah and Bella quickly offered Lukas a seat. They chose one to the side of Tim, which faced towards a running stream with flowers. There was some kind of willow leaning over the water’s surface where it pooled. Unlike winter willows, the tree’s leaves were green.

“Did you already dine, or am I splitting the bill with you?” Lukas was quick to ask. He knew by now that the Tulip King did not care for tact with those familiar to him. He made exceptions with Mathias, but as his husband, he did not know how far those sentiments extended.

“We’re covering!” Bella quickly swooped in to say. “Tim, Lukas is here as our guest, not some business partner. We need to make good examples of ourselves.” Her brother grunted and snapped for an attendant. They ordered some dishes and decided to get to converse to fill the preparation time.

“Well then,” Lukas exhaled, the air seeming to get thicker, “ _you_ know why I’m here, but is this appropriate information to be sharing while your siblings are here?”

Tim puffed on his fairy’s feather a few times before he set it down on a glass bowl. “Let’s just eat. Not going to get anywhere with these two here.”

“What?” Bella started. “Tim, we’re your siblings! We deserve to know why Lukas came here!”

“Y’don’t,” her brother’s voice was deep, gruff, and stubborn. “Shouldn’t even have had Crodinia involved, but here we are. I’m not making this any messier now that I’ve done some diggin’ myself.”

Noah placed a hand over his sister’s. “Bella, perhaps Tim means well by this. He wouldn’t tell us anything that we wouldn’t gain something from. This could be something we don’t deserve to know about.”

The princess, however, seemed adamant that she be informed of Lukas’ visit. “Lukas came all the way from Markal to see us! Whatever this is, it has to be important!”

“To be honest, I don’t know how important this is, myself,” Lukas admitted to everyone, “but Mathias and I trusted your judgement enough to have me personally come, Your Majesty. If you think your siblings should not hear what you have to say, then I’ll respect your wishes.”

“Oh, Lukas!” Bella huffed. Seemingly betrayed of their trust, she flopped down in her chair and crossed her arms. Appetizers came shortly after her small tantrum in the form of small teacakes and rolls, but she would not indulge herself in any of them. Noah attended to their guest by offering some appetizers in her stead.

Tim leaned forward and took a roll with some jam. “I never asked you to get involved, Bella. Stop making a scene.” He was well aware of how nosy their sister could be, and there appeared to be no doubt that something would be spilled from her lips before her brothers. Lukas felt that he could have let her down gently, but he dared not get himself too wrapped up in the Maes' affairs.

Bella said not a word throughout their meal. She eventually came around to eating, as there were irresistible dishes that her younger brother specifically ordered for her: smoked ham, steamed mussels, and cream and fish stew. However, she chose to eat in silence, something that Lukas never thought he would have minded. When they were done eating, Lukas offered to pay as an extension of courtesy, but Noah brightly claimed he had already taken care of the expenses. “It’d be embarrassing if every time a ruler came over, we’d ask for them to pay for their own hospitality,” the prince chuckled. “Well, I say we make exceptions for nobles, but you’re one of the lucky ones we tolerate, Your Majesty.”

“I’m honored,” the Shadow plainly spoke.

When dessert was brought and eaten—almond cake and spiced biscuits—and the room was filled with recreational smoke, Tim told Bella and Noah to return to the palace on their own. Naturally, it did not bode well with either of them.

“You should be a better host, brother,” Noah found the courage to frown. “You’re setting a poor example of our family, letting His Majesty see you discard us without so much as a well-meaning conversation. You’ve hurt Bella’s feelings, too.”

“It doesn’t concern you two. You should know enough to trust me when I say you don’t need to be here.” He gave a stern glance his sister’s way, his thin lips pressed in a hard line. “Bella, don’t take this personally. This is—”

“Just business?” she snapped, her voice heavy with strain. “It’s _always_ business with you, isn’t it, Tim? I was hoping by having Lukas here, you’d ease up a little and act like we were family.” She stood, grabbing onto Noah’s wrist, a hurtful stare in her large glistening eyes. “I don’t know why I thought this time would be different. Noah, let’s go.” Lukas watched with discomfort as she pushed through the curtain of beads and dragged her younger brother away, her heels clacking against the hard floor until they faded away into the distance.

When he was certain they were gone, Lukas turned to his husband’s old friend. “You were too harsh with them. They were talking to great lengths about how much they wanted to spend time with you.”

A genuine look of pain glossed over Tim’s hardened face. He had built himself up as a capable king and older brother, but in the face of becoming unrelenting in the world of trade, he had to sacrifice a personable part of himself to succeed. Lukas could only imagine what his journey must have been like. “They’re used to this side of me by now,” he said, taking a pinch of dried grass and lighting it.

“I know it’s not in my place to say, but I’ll say it anyway: they shouldn’t be used to it.”

“No,” Tim agreed. “I know that.”

The Shadow felt sympathy for his husband's old friend. "You work hard because you don't have any of The Bountiful's blood, yourself, but don't forget to be an older brother as well as a king every now and then." For Lukas, who had known how trusting Mathias had been with his old friend across the sea, he did not need the spell of hearts to know that the Tulip King cared for his siblings.

Tim did seem to take Lukas' words into consideration, as he was silent for a time. Then, he wiped his nose and tapped on his pipe to loosen the expended ashes. “Let’s not talk about them right now. I called you here because part of it needed to be told to you face to face.”

Lukas cocked his head. “And the other part?”

“That part needs to be shown.” The king took a few puffs and let out his breath in a waft of smoke. “Reason why my response took so long was because I had some men dig around when you mentioned the kidnappings. Tried to find out where they were taking place and where they were taking the Altorienese with golden eyes.” Tim flashed a grimace upon his face that he had rarely shown to anyone else. “The trail took us to Stamper. You haven’t been there, but on the surface, everything looks fine and dandy until you stumble across it at night. That’s when all sorts of shit shows up.

“At first we thought the Altorienese were being used as pillow pets in brothels or rebranded as slaves, but it was something far worse. The smells I remember the most. The bodies…someone’s been lookin' for them, Shadow. Organs were intact. No signs of rape. No arcane magic. But they were missing limbs and blood.”

Lukas felt sick. His stomach turned, and he wished Mathias were here to hold onto. _So this is why you didn’t want Bella and Noah here._ But he had to be strong, he told himself, as his king had promised to do the same for him. “…You speak of body parts and blood, but do you know what purposes they were used for?”

“Can’t say,” Tim hissed with a frustrated tone. He puffed some more, and the room filled with so much smoke that Lukas could barely see out of him. _Are you doing this to conceal ourselves, or are you that stressed, Your Majesty?_ “The trail ran cold when we found the place. Someone knew we were coming, and while they couldn’t get rid of the bodies, they left no traces of themselves or the parts they supposedly took. The body remains, we cleaned up and preserved. Doesn’t matter who they are now, but all the victims had golden eyes…It didn’t matter that they were young, or old, or male, or female…” His voice softened and he mumbled something Lukas could not quite hear.

“Did you say something just now, Tim?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he assured him. He took two puffs of his pipe and suddenly threw it down on the ash tray, scattering ashes and burnt grass flying everywhere. Nothing caught fire. “Fuck it, I’ll get straight to the point: how much do you remember about astral arts?”

Lukas gave the Belethrenic king a dark warning look. “Is that what you had me truly come here for?”

“I’m not gonna ask the Kirklands, and there’s no fuckin’ way I’m heading to Kalbansland. I don’t even know if this is all a waste of time, but…” He uttered a Belethrenic curse under his breath and ran a hand through his upright hair. Even as he did so, it sprouted proudly like grass. “…Ya asked me, Lukas. This is as far as I’ve gotten. It shouldn’t be like me to get involved in this sort of thing, but it doesn’t do businesses any good if they find out there’s been meat market slaughters going on underneath Stamper’s canals. On top of that, it’s not good for the slave-trading business if buyers lose them. I’ve dealt with squabbles on turfs and illegal trading, but this is something dirtier than all that.” He stared into Lukas’ dark blue eyes. “If ya wanna go further, we need to find out why the golden-eyed Altorienese were being targeted before this gets out of hand.”

The Shadow crossed his fingers into a net under his chin. “I agree with that, but you’re honestly better off asking the Kirklands, even if you don’t want to. They delve more into intangible magics, as I’m sure you’re aware of.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t yer brother have some golden-eyed boy as a pet? It doesn’t concern you why he was almost kidnapped? Who knows? Could’ve been for a good reason that those Altorienese were being blood-drained.”

“My brother’s immortal,” Lukas calmly reminded him. “Well, I suppose the only thing I’d worry about is if he lost his pet. He’s greatly attached to him.”

“Hmm,” Tim snorted. “I’ve done my part. You can let this whole thing get swept under the rug and pretend it’s not an issue, or you can help me get to the bottom of this. I can just as easily pretend it’s not an issue, too. It’s easier to manage when you’re the king of Belethren.”

A heavy sigh passed through Lukas’ lungs. He knew what his answer had to be. Something had been nagging at him since that fateful festival day during the Red Summer; he felt that there was a piece missing in all of this, and while he could not say what it was or felt strongly enough about it to divulge to Tim, he believed there was definitely something to be gleaned from the Altorienese deaths. “I may be scarce in practice these days, but my astral magic is learned. Alright. Fine. I’ll do it. I’m not sure if this is paying you back in any way, but we did appreciate your aid during the war.”

“Sure, sure,” the king dismissively waved. He did not sound either satisfied or upset with Lukas’ answer. “We’ll need to go to Stamper, then. Tonight would be better.”

 _Always a miser, aren’t you? Even with time._ “You’re serious on leaving tonight? Their Highnesses won’t like that.”

“Damn right they won’t. I know I’m hardly around, but the more I stay, the harder it gets t’ leave. Plus we don’t want to keep you away from Mathias for too long.”

Amidst his sinking dread, Lukas found his ears growing hot. He needed to remember to write a letter to his husband before he left. “Very well, I can prepare for departure. I’ll need to retrieve my things in the palace, and that should be all.”

“Good. Still practical. I’ve always liked that about you.”

Bella and Noah had since disappeared from the Glass Gardens, no doubt returning to the palace. Lukas wondered if he would run into them one last time before he and Tim left for Stamper. They took a separate carriage back to the palace, filling the time with small talk. “You know, when I told Mathias I was going to come here on my own, he threw the most fabulous fit about it.”

“He’d do that,” Tim knowingly nodded. “You complete him more than my sister’d be able to. I don’t know how you handle that idiot. If Mathias proposed to Bella, I’d have beat the shit out of him.”

Lukas smiled a wistful way. “We manage well enough—ha, well, mostly I do the weight pulling. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle the kingdom on his own, without my guidance.” He deeply sighed. “But he has his advisors and council members to help him. I left him a list of things he needed to take care of, but we both know how that usually goes over.”

Tim upsettingly rolled his eyes. He was often more expressive around those he considered familiar. “He’s never been good at following instructions. Y’need to trick him into doing things.”

“Yes, I’ve learned the craft quite well,” Lukas bragged in a joking tone. He looked outside of the carriage window and stared at the passing buildings. As they moved closer to the palace, he could see gold trimmings on the buildings that were closer to royalty. _Gold…_ “Excuse me, Tim?” he turned his head to the Tulip King.

“Hmm?”

“Where were you during the storming of Tong Bei, when Mathias beheaded the emperor?”

“That?” The king pondered it and scoffed, clicking his tongue. “There were fel’n all over the place, I remember that. Those things were a pain in the ass to kill. And I remember artworks. I told my men not to burn them so we’d get a good price on them from the right buyers…Definitely was inside the palace grounds. Where’d that question come from?”

Lukas blinked. “Curious, was all.” He watched the king turn his head away, his bright green eyes focusing on his family’s home as the carriage pulled up to the front. He watched him further still, when he stepped outside and walked to the entrance, the doorman opening the double doors for them.

Lukas slowed his pace to allow Tim to take the lead. If there was any moment to do this, now would be the time. So, he focused. He made himself aware of his own heart beating, the rhythm of his breathing, and the pace of his steps.

_Steady._

He stared at the back of Tim’s head and felt a writhing power grow within him. He envisioned a fuzzy circle spinning around him, growing smaller and clearer as it centered its way towards the left side of his chest, towards his heart.

 _Tighter._

The circle shrank into a dot and glowed for a second before he used the spell of hearts, boring his way into the deep crevices of Tim’s mind, heart, and soul.

The sounds always came first: laughter, muffled chatter, the sound of steel striking steel, the crisp clinking of coins. Words and numbers began to form, their manifestations quicker to come than full pictures, all of which held no significant meanings. Then, he saw flashes of images: faces familiar and foreign, smiles and frightened expressions, a grand red hall expanding out before him, a cliff overlooking a deep blue ocean, the tip of a ship sailing on open water, a smiling man with a fuzzy features, a woman with dark hair, a poem unfinished, the words reading like a painting. _Petals…ivory…honey…black. Black. Black. Black. Black. Black. BLACK. BLACK. BLACK._

“Lukas—”

His face met with the velvet steps with a pathetic flopping sound, his whole body falling forward. He scrambled to compose himself when he found that he was no longer on level ground. They had reached the stairs. “Sorry. I—” He desperately cleared his throat. “—tripped on the steps.”

Tim looked questionably at Lukas, whose form and posture had been so composed up until now. “You alright?”

“My pride aside, no harm done. I suppose it’s been a long day,” he tried to lightly brush it off. He cursed himself in his head for not watching himself in reality. Usually he was good at that, but something was deeply wrong about this. _This shouldn’t be happening. It never happens. I’m better than this._ He would have tried again, but he heard voices further up the stairs. Bella. Noah. No, it was best not to attempt the spell again. He observed the Tulip King ascending to the top and seeing his siblings who were spouting questions like magic flares, each one hotter and quicker than the last. They also spoke to Lukas, but their words had fallen deaf on his ears.

 _He shouldn’t be able to do that._ A sinking feeling wormed its way down his stomach. Not even the delicious Belethrenic food could stave off this unsettling sensation. The spell of hearts was absolute, so long as its wielder’s heart was stronger than the one it was being cast on—or if the ordeal was weaker than the wielder’s fortitude. He looked on as Tim idly chatted with his siblings, growing a guilty expression as one could manage when he told them of their departure to Stamper. He appeared to be utterly normal on the surface. That made Lukas’ blood run all the more cold.

 _Tim, what did you do?_ His hand was shaking. His heart racing, he reached over with his free hand to steady it. _Careful now…_

“Lukas, ya coming or not?” Tim called to him, still halfway up the stairs.

“Yes, I’ll be a moment.” He blinked and looked to the upset princess and prince. “Your Highnesses, I’m deeply sorry I’ve had to cut my visit so short and so abruptly.” He might have heard words of forgiveness or disappointment; he could not remember. He wondered if he should have even looked. _You shouldn’t have. You idiot, you shouldn’t have._ “Could you wait a moment, everyone? I promised Mathias I’d write him every day. Best do that before he comes sailing over, himself.” He did not hear if he was given permission, not that he would have let them stop him. He briskly walked to his room and locked the door to his chambers, shrinking everything back down into his bag, save for a piece of parchment and a quill. He smoothed over the paper and began to write, hoping that the faster he moved his quill, the sooner his hand would be able to still itself of his tension.

> _My dear Mathias,_
> 
> _I’m afraid I’ll have to be gone a little longer than we thought…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use the name "Noah" for Luxembourg because apparently it's a common name in his irl country. Plus, he looks like one!


	24. His Pane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More questions arise in Stamper.

“I have something for you.” Lukas recited an unshrinking spell that brought out a parcel wrapped in blue paper, donning a Crodinian Cross. The receiver took it with a soft grunt and felt its shape before ripping open the package. “It’s a parchment set,” he said, hoping to lighten the heavy mood; it had been crushing down on both of them since they had said their farewells to His Majesty’s siblings, and the carriage walls seemed to be closing in on them with every fork they came to in the road. “Mathias told me you like flowers and stationery.”

The king had a soft look in his eyes for someone who bore what could only have been a dark memory. Lukas had yet to use the spell of hearts on him again, else he expose himself and his prying. “Hmm, he knows me, alright; though, it’s been some time since I’ve gotten around to writing something…Thanks.” He opened the box and found a neat bundle of crisp thick paper that could hold the runniest of inks. Smells of sandalwood and peach wafted into the cabin, a personal perfume from the papermill that manufactured this particular brand. Even Mathias’ family had not indulged in such a luxury; the stationery was made specifically as a novelty piece for impressing suitors, appeasing loved ones, or showing off in general. Tim could do whatever he liked with this gift. _And if you sell it, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised._

“How long do you suspect we’ll be gone?” Lukas asked an hour afterwards. He had written to Mathias with an estimated week’s extension, but if it felt that it needed to be longer, he would need to tell him as soon as possible. A day’s letter too late would undoubtedly cause the Sun King to abandon his throne and send a Crodinian naval army straight towards Belethren, good allies or not. The Nine Divine be good, all of Eliatha would laugh at the king’s melodrama, were that to happen.

“Depends,” Tim shrugged, his hands fidgeting with his lighter. Had he possessed magic in his veins, he would have been able to use a simple lighting spell. Even Emil knew it. “Took me three weeks to get to where we are. How long d’you expect you’re gonna to need with the bodies?”

Lukas bit down on his lower lip. His father had made him practice with animals, children, and sometimes simple commonfolk and soldiers. The more memories and experiences a life had, the more difficult the spell of ascension was. These were Altorienese prisoners of war they were going to be examining. There would be nothing short of traumatic flashes. “I don’t suspect the actual readings will take more than an hour. It’s the investigation afterward that I’m concerned with. I told Mathias a week, though it wouldn’t surprise me if this took longer.” He directed his attention to the passing sights of the outdoors, hoping to distract himself for the task ahead. Even as the evening befell them, he could easily use a night-eyes spell to let him see in the dark, though the strain he had to endure made his head hurt after no more than half an hour. A potion with the same effects would prove more fruitful; however, they required brewing under a full moon and with ingredients too inconvenient to come by on such short notice.

Though it was slower, they had chosen to go by carriage instead of ship, as entry into Stamper’s docks required submitting permits and going through customs. For the Tulip King to announce himself so suddenly, even if he were to bypass the normal laws, there would be rumors floating through the docks. Tim Maes was typically a man who worked under a low profile.

What Lukas did see as they traveled the roads did enough to impress him, as it was. When they left the City of Tyse, gone were the marvelous flowers, trees, and impressively quaint urbanized sprawls. In their place, the canals merged into singular flat rivers that flowed into the neighboring countryside that was flat and expansive, and gigantic windmills loomed in the horizon. He remembered the first time he had seen Belethren’s windmills, thinking them to be large enough to serve as personable forts; each one stood a generous twenty meters tall with sturdy interiors complete with stairs, moving parts, and storage space. Tim had explained his kingdom’s windmills served multiple purposes: milling grain, pumping water near dikes, and powdering glassbark shavings and pepperblooms into usable commodities.

“Supposedly The Arcane gave us, Belethrenics, the knowledge to harness the wind,” Tim had told Mathias and Lukas during a visit. His father had requested he take them to the countryside to see the towering edifices with spinning sail panels. “We have a lot of it, so it only made sense that it’d find a way to use it.” He had also mentioned that most of Belethren’s farmland used to be underwater. Thanks to windmills, his ancestors were able to pump out the water into mitigated dikes and use the drained soil.

Prince Mathias had excitedly proposed something of the sort to increase Crodinia’s farmland, until Lukas had reminded him that the elevation of Crodinia was significantly higher than their southern neighbors. “Think about it: if they have _seawater_ beds, they could’ve only gotten there if the land was lower than the sea level.” To that, Mathias could not understand how the earth could have naturally been lower than the sea, and Lukas and Tim had resigned to saving their breath and sanity.

That visit had been a memorable one, Lukas recalled. They had entered one of the windmills and looked out from an open window, where a rainbow of dahlias—King William Maes IX’s choice of flower during his reign—spread further than Lukas’ eyes could see. They had picnicked by one of the dikes overlooking the flower fields, enjoying the Belethrenic breeze that blew from the Talas Ocean. Mathias had wished Crodinia’s climate would be amicable enough to let flowers bloom all over his kingdom. In truth, though the views had been lovely, Lukas preferred the natural colors of his homeland, even now, and in thinking of how much he preferred his wintery home to this kingdom, it came to him just how much he missed Mathias and Crodinia.

“You see something funny out there?” Tim raised a thin eyebrow at his traveling companion.

He was laughing, he realized. “Mm, I was thinking about how much I miss home. _That_ , I suppose, is funny. I’ve been away for such long stretches of time during the war; you’d think I’d have gotten used to leaving people behind by now.”

Tim scoffed, a rare smirk barely grazing his lips. “You were never alone, Shadow. Mathias was always there for you—or maybe, you were there for him.” Against the nature of his god’s blood, Lukas wanted to think it was the former.

“Do _you_ ever miss him, Tim?” he thought to ask. The two kings had known each other even longer than he did. “I understand you visit bi-annually but not always to the capital…”

“Both of us have our hands tied now that we’ve both kingdoms to run,” Tim shrugged. He leaned back into his seat and pulled out a roll of paper. Lukas could not recognize the plant, but whatever it was, when it burned, it stank to high sky like sour cabbage gone bad (if that was even possible). “I don’t know what my old man was thinking when he gave me the crown, but it’s somethin’ I’ve gotta do now. Makes some business easier, I suppose, since I get to set tariffs and policies.”

“They’re reasonable for the sake of your kingdom, I’d say,” Lukas acknowledged, although the Kingdom of Crodinia enjoyed lax prices due to their amicable relations with the Kingdom of Belethren. Ever since His Former Majesty had retired and handed the crown to his eldest son, it was true that there was hardly a moment to be had for Tim’s own leisure. Lukas wondered if there would ever be an opportunity for Mathias to choose a proper successor before stepping down as king, himself. Knowing him, the Sun King would rule until the end of his days.

While Lukas pondered this, Tim took a deep puff of his burning stick of death. The Shadow wished he would open a window, but he refrained from showing his discomfort. Such recreational practices were common in Belethren. “There’s too much to do and not enough time to do it. Don’t suppose your brother has a way to heal time at will like he does wounds, does he?”

The Shadow forced a smile. “Were that possible, I would guarantee you the Steilssons would have taken over the world by now. But to answer your question directly, no, he has no control over that sort of thing.”

Tim’s lips formed a flat line that could have rivaled Lukas’ own expression of distaste or mild irritation. “Suppose if I had time to do things I wanted to do, I’d have time to get sentimental, too.”

“I hope this isn’t the mentality Bella and Noah think you have, Your Majesty.”

He took in his words, a scowl lingering on his face. His eyebrows were often drawn into a lowered fold, so he often appeared to be irritated. Lukas knew this not to be the case. “Maybe,” he admitted, “but as long as they don’t follow my example, I’m fine with it. I didn’t take up my methods of ruling to have them think like me.” He took a puff. “Bella, she’ll be alright. It’s Noah I worry more about.”

“He has a friendlier mask than you.”

Tim scoffed, again his rare smirk grazing the corner of his lips. “Mask, huh?” he mused in Belethrenic words. “You use the spell of hearts on ‘im?” Lukas’ chest tightened. “He’s a good kid, but he’s soft. He was never able to build up a tough image, so he chose to take on the diplomatic approach. Think the only reason he gets away with it is because of The Bountiful.”

Lukas smiled. “He told me he had some reservations about not having as many blessings as your sister, but maybe he’s more fortunate than he thought. Regardless, I don’t think you need to worry about him.”

“Sure, well…” Tim’s voice trailed off, and soon after, he fell silent, also looking out the window into perpetual darkness.

Unlike the rugged roads of Crodnia with thick forests and mountainous terrain, the Kingdom of Belethren was more or less flat. The roads were not always paved as they were in Bävmek, nor were they as pristine as in cities of Hummrel, but they were the easiest to navigate across. _As expected from a kingdom whose terrain is flat and low,_ Lukas thought, already seeing the bustling City of Stamper in view. It was littered with colorful lights from dyed glowstone, giving it a nocturnal contrast of the flowering kingdom’s fields during the day.

Though there were more residents in Stamper than in Tyse, the capital had been selected as the latter, as during times of threatening invasions from what was now Ésbel, the westernmost Stamper was prone to attacks from the sea, there being few natural defenses. With negotiations and aid from Crodinian allies, Belethren was able to stave off naval pursuits until conflicts with the Ésbellish diminished into a truce. What was once an unstable shipping port had grown into a thriving city of recreation and commerce.

They arrived in an inconspicuous alley after six hours of riding from Tyse, the carriage they chose being plain and unnoticeable. Tim snuffed out his pipe and pulled his scarf close to his face, as he stepped out. He was used to the sights and smells of Stamper, having commuted many a time as he grew old enough to venture out on his own. Lukas, however, was not. “You didn’t have any other clothes besides that mage getup?” he studied the Shadow's thick dark robes as he told the coachman to ride off.

“My apologies,” Lukas’ voice was thick, “when you said to ‘come to Tyse,’ I never imagined my visit would bring me here, instead.” He knew he should have brought better clothes for traveling, but he had not thought they would leave the capital. His long dark blue robes draped down over his hands, tied by a silvery roped Crodinian knot with crisscross designs of his Sar’ph roots. He would have worn a matching cape, but as there were no snows this time of year, he had chosen to omit it from his outfit. Tim mumbled something behind his scarf, of which Lukas did not want to indulge in, but he though to offer an alternative. “I know an illusion charm, but it doesn’t do anything to hide our reflections.” He glanced around. “There are several windows in this city.”

“Nah, we'll be fine,” the Tulip King sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t look Belethrenic is all. Most people are smart enough to mind their own business ‘round here.” He began walking down the alley, smoke and fog rising from the depths of sewers and open vents. “Stay close to me and don’t stick your nose where you aren’t supposed to.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Tim twisted his lips. “I know you can, and that’s why I’m telling you.”

Stamper was a city that came alive when the night was young. Bridges, buildings, and streets were lit with glowstones of pinks, yellows, and brilliant blues, casting flickering rainbows along windows and painted walls. Even in the narrow alleys, Lukas could hear laughter and shouting from nearby taverns and inns, dogs barking, and bards and sailors singing guttural Belethrenic tunes. Smells of sour cabbage, vespat beetle spray, and burnt coal stank up the streets where the flowers of Tyse were not found. Lukas felt dizzy merely by breathing the air between the walls, and it was then that he wondered if this was why Tim always held a scarf close to him. _Perhaps it’s time for me to invest in a scarf, as well._

The pair slipped out from the alley and walked down an open street, the walkways and paths being paved and littered with discarded papers, bottles, and all manners of bodily fluids. Lukas could hear the sounds of someone vomiting off in the distance, and further still, a team of sailors were making lewd comments to a trio of women dressed heavily in furs, despite it being a summer night. If it were not for the unsightly observations and busy atmosphere, Lukas might have found Stamper to be equally as charming as Tyse. There were rivers with glowing arches, boats that floated on illuminated rivers, and the occasional smell of warm bread and chocolates cutting through the smoke-filled air.

Tim brought Lukas to a building with no label. One could have easily missed it, as it was wedged between two other ordinary resident-like buildings of rectangular shape and equal-rowed windows. This building was an olive green in color, though from the magenta glowstone nearby, it would have been difficult to tell. “In here,” said Tim, taking a key out and unlocking it.

Lukas used an illumination spell when he stepped through. A barrel with a vase sat behind the center of a window, and an old sofa of bound leather and floral cloth was pushed to the edge of the opposing wall. Other than the sparse lifeforms within, it was almost as though the place had been frozen in time. It all _looked_ normal, with a humble amount of common furniture and nothing out of the ordinary, save for the lack of dust and stationary man looking at him, a Belethrenic solider, Lukas recognized by the sash crossed from his shoulder to his opposite hip; else, he was dressed as a civilian. When he saw the Tulip King come after him, he gave a bow, and Tim returned a nod.

There was a narrow opening in the furthest wall that led to a kitchen, which Lukas would have stepped through had Tim not told him to follow him to the base of a stairwell. “Basement,” he grunted with a beckoning finger. He opened a door that led to a space underneath the stairs that would have been reserved for a cupboard in a Tabrinnish residence. Instead, there was another set of stairs leading down into a dark and cool space. A stream of mist poured out, and Lukas frowned.

“You put them on ice?”

“The rotting smell’d tip someone off.” That was true, Lukas had to admit. Even medicinal magic could only do so much to preserve a body after its life had passed. Tim went first with Lukas trailing behind. There were three other soldiers standing guard in the basement that was dark and cool, save for a single glowstone lamp that sat in the middle. All gave bows when they saw Their Majesties.

Against the wall behind the lamp, quite in unceremoniously poor taste, was a pile of unrecognizable corpses surrounded by everfrost crystals. The bodies’ sickly pale skin and shiny dark hair indicated Altorienese origins. Laced with ice crystals, Lukas could see gaping pink stumps and sawed bone where arms and legs should have been. It looked like a summoning ritual straight out of a Kalbanslandic spell book.

“Gods, you weren’t kidding,” Lukas refrained from grimacing in the audience of the soldiers. “You found them like this?”

“More fresh aside, yep,” answered Tim. “When we asked around Tyse, some nobles were sayin’ that their Altorienese property was missing. Wouldn’t you know it, all of them had golden eyes. Funny thing was we didn’t find anything in Tyse, but I also had my men search Stamper. This is the kind of place you’d more expect this kind of shit.

“We found these stashed here after askin’ around. The neighbor said they heard someone arguing and weird sounds coming from the walls.” He gestured to the frozen pile. “Whoever did this, there weren’t traces of anyone leaving with limbs and blood on them. Didn’t find any other secret entrances or exits.”

Lukas was already forming an idea of who could have done such a thing. “You can’t shrink organic matter, and if you’re saying you couldn’t find the one who did this nearby, then the murderer had to have been using teleportation _and_ transportation spells—or combined, it could be a reverse summoning spell—meaning whoever did this is incredibly versed in magic.” He caught Tim giving him a look that could have meant only one thing. _No, Tim, I don’t want to go there yet. Asking those questions would be adding oil to the flames._ He stared at the pile of corpses. _But it seems this fire’s been burning for a long time. Someone’s organized this for a while now. I don’t need to read into their lives to know that._

“Let’s focus on what could’ve happened first,” Tim sensibly suggested. He signaled for his soldiers to go up the stairs. Chances were, anyone who would think to return to this building would either have to enter through the front or back door—or directly into the basement. Tim had seen enough of the Shadow’s work to know they would be fine on their own here.

Lukas asked Tim to help him lift the first corpse onto the stone floor. He soon discovered it was not necessary, as the missing limbs and blood made for a disturbingly easy effort. _Did they have to leave the heads?_ He refrained from gagging when he used a small ignition spell to thaw the eyelids. He lifted the limp eyelid that felt like a loose piece of fabric and found a rolled-over golden eye. It was a slightly darker color than Leon’s, but it was definitely a shade of gold.

“Hmm.” He frowned and backed away from the corpse. He studied the appearance of this one. It was a middle-aged man, from the wrinkles and grooves in his gaunt cheeks. There were even traces of white hairs sprouting from his scalp. “I must confess I’ve never actually practiced on an adult before.” They looked at the bodies that appeared to be all young adults and older. None were children, thank the gods.

Tim began rolling some grass in a piece of thin paper. “As long as this doesn’t take more than a week, we’re good.”

Lukas shot him a look. “And before I start, could you please refrain from smoking in here? I’m going to need every bit of concentration I can get.” With a mutter, Tim put away his paper stick and brought his scarf to his mouth. “Thank you. Oh, and if you see dark ice forming around me, don’t be alarmed. I don’t consciously lose control of it.”

The Tulip King gave the Shadow a weary look as one as stoic as him could muster. “What about unconscious?”

“Please,” Lukas managed a smile. Perhaps he was nervous. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

The spell of ascension was first learned by a southern Kalbanslandic group of monks who had believed forms of life still lingered in the bodies before passing on to a new one. Similar to how the spell of hearts allowed the caster to look into the memories of the living, the spell of ascension allowed for the caster to read into the deepest thoughts of the deceased, as any semblance of secrecy was nonexistent in death. The monks had believed memories lingered, so The Nine Divine could pass judgement where the soul would be reborn. Sometimes it took longer than others, depending on the quality of life one lived. As it turned out later on, one of the blood bearing kings of The Arcane had discovered that one’s memories were not intact in a cadaver because of divine judgement, but because there was still activity within the brain after a short moment of passing.

“Some say the dead don’t speak,” Lord Petter Bondevik had told him, “but I know that the dead don’t _lie_. What is there to hide when you’ve lost the capability to protect them? Should you find yourself in a dire need to know one’s deepest secrets, sometimes coercion is in order, and even in the throes of death, no one will ever be safe from you.” Thus, Lukas had been forced to read the texts of Daniel Irkman, when his father had ordered him to learn the spell of ascension.

> _The brain is similar to a self-written textbook. It learns and adapts based specifically on the interactions and experiences the owner undergoes in his or her lifetime, through a development of nurturing. As a result, even if we have two identical persons of the same brain, if we put them in different environments, we will find that the brain will write itself differently. The spell of ascension is, by that logic, a magnifying glass into that textbook, and we are the wielders of that magnifying glass. We are able to read the structures and passages and formulas of each specific brain and glean some knowledge and insight to those whose memories have become unadulterated._

_-_ King Daniel Irkman, _A Scientific Look into the Beyond_

It was one of the first spells discovered to have put to use biological applications over spiritual. Unfortunately, His Late Majesty’s publication had been heavily criticized for going against the gods’ wills, even though he, himself, had been a blood bearer—not that he could have divulged it aloud. His findings went unrecognized and unacknowledged for a greater period of time, centuries after his passing, until a healer discovered that a frozen body could still have the spell of ascension used on it longer than a fresh unpreserved one. So as long as the brain was intact, as it was found, the spell of ascension could still be performed.

Even then, it was rare when the spell could be performed correctly. By common belief, the spell’s true nature took so long to uncover because it required intense concentration. As a child of natural talent, Lukas had managed the spell on simple lifeforms. As a teenager, he had used it to some degrees during the war to uncover the whereabouts of enemy camps and plans, however, King Vitus had forbidden its use after there were talks of him using it to expose the secrets of other kingdoms.

 _And yet here I find myself again…_ The Ruined help him, he had a feeling this recurrence of finding death would always haunt him. Even with his wavering resolve, he knew the god’s blood flowing through his veins would allow him passage into this corpse’s mind. It wanted suffering. He prepared himself for the worst.

The incantation was a low and droning slur of syllables constructed of a lost southern dialect of Chiallan. When recited, it sounded like a mantra of sorts, the tone monotonous but almost soothing in an eerie way. Lukas let his thoughts flow free and allow the memories of the departed flood his mind.

There were always key memories, those that were the most prevalent and strongest of all. Most links were tied to these memories, branching further and further like limbs on a grand tree, and it was this model Lukas preferred to envision. He experienced the flash of a jungle, the sight of a warm glowing table of food, the taste of salted bean paste (though he had never known of its name or taste before), the screams that traveled the darkness, and the shimmer of a knife that reflected a thick rope. _The knife_. Lukas traveled across the thicket of branches along the knife until he came to a limb with a few straggling sticks branched out.

He chose one branch and smelled the rich familiar scent of blood. Smells were good. As they were strong to trigger memories, more branches flourished outward. He traced his fingers over them and felt a sharp cold cut to his shoulder. He flinched and wanted to scream, but his mouth would not work. His tongue was numb in his throat. Someone had silenced him. His heart had shot up to his throat in fear, and his blood pounded in his eardrums. The sounds were wet and unbearable, but that was all they were. Unbearable. No more, he thought. He did not want to think of this anymore. They were cutting his arm off. _How could they?_ The thoughts were in a language he did not know, but they were familiar to him. His nose stung from crying, and his eyes could no longer see. _Why are they doing this?_ There were frustrated murmurs in a foreign language that _he_ did not know. But he thought he did. Unfortunately, when something was unfamiliar to the person, comprehensive words and meanings were lost. Shortly after, Lukas felt an eternal bliss and saw a light. Then, nothing.

“…y…Hey…Lukas…?” Tim was looking over him, a raised eyebrow of concern as the light of the lamp radiated outward. “You alright?”

“No,” came his first word. He had a splitting headache. There were eight more torsos left. “How long was I out?”

Tim audibly huffed, his version of a laugh. “Couldn’t have been more than ten seconds. You just stopped chanting all of a sudden.”

Lukas frowned. The flashes of one’s memories often came in short instances. “I didn’t get anything tangible from that one. Fear, there was plenty of.” He spat, a gesture uncouth for his person. He thought he could still taste blood in his mouth. “There is more than one killer, but that makes sense, seeing how much work this would’ve been for one person. And I know that whatever language they were speaking, it wasn’t Altorienese. The man I looked into couldn’t understand them.”

“Y’don’t think it was a different dialect of Altorienese instead?” Tim was versed in at least two of them, as there were lands under his kingdom’s current rule. Some of the Altorienese dialects were so different that they may have been separate languages, altogether.

“No, couldn’t have been. The sounds were definitely western. Not Crodinian. Not Belethrenic.”

Tim looked relieved to hear that. “Narrows it down some, then.”

Lukas agreed. “That’s all from that one. Let’s get to the other.” The next one was a woman. From her, Lukas saw an overcast sky and heavy air thick with warm rains. The lull of frogs croaking and the sights of glowing bugs had brought comfort to her, and she had often slept with family members. Those peaceful memories quickly dissolved. The further he reached, he could see flames and hear shrieking. They were not human. Fel’n, he realized. There were ape and reptilian fel’n burning in bright red flames. A moment later, he—or rather _she_ —was hiding somewhere dark and enclosed. The loud cracking of wood breaking and pots breaking split the silence, and she knew fear again. She smelled the rotting stench of flesh covered with boils, pus, and bursting infections. The stink of human feces permeated the damp space that bore no circulation. She saw heavy rain and gray water, tasted the earthly puddles being scooped from desperate hands, felt the blow of a blunt stick to her cheek. Somebody spoke. Not Altorienese. The words frightened her. She was pinned by the wrists. She screamed. A dark figure loomed over her, a primal lust in his eyes. She screamed again. Then, the figure flew to the side.

“No rape,” she heard. For some reason, she understood that. _No rape._ There was more, but she was sobbing too loudly to hear them speak. She wished it was over. Then, she was in a freezing empty room. The icy sensation of a knife cut into her wrist, and she wanted to scream but could not. She was going to end up like the others, white and cold and dead. The knife cut further into her arm all the way to the elbow, long and deep, hot and painful. She watched in horror through tear-filled eyes as her blood spilled into a pan. Then, they began on her other arm. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird. Why would she not die?

“Not this one.” She had learned to know what that meant. She was not the one they were looking for, either. That meant only one thing: it was her turn. The familiar sound of something wet and vigorous came. A burning needle-like sensation of fire and flashing stars came. She flailed but could not scream. She promised herself it would be alright. She could not see anymore, but she felt that a blessing in disguise. It would all be over soon. She could meet her family again. No more of this. _Not this one._ The sawing continued until she felt a tingling sensation in both shoulder sockets. She stopped thinking when they proceeded with her left thigh.

Lukas regained movement of his fingers and eyes again. His hand was beginning to tremble. He looked to his feet and saw nothing but the bare stone. Tim looked concerned. “Gonna be able to do the others, Shadow?”

“We have to,” he growled, his clenched jaws feeling as though they would collapse in on themselves. “They’re looking for someone. The blood being taken was to test something. Tim, I…I’m afraid we stumbled into something far bigger than just a couple of select kidnappings.” He took deep breaths, barely grateful that he could not smell the stink of the frozen corpses. “I heard something. I could understand words, but I can’t remember the language. I only know that she understood it.” He bitterly swallowed as he recited the phrases he recalled. “‘No rape’ and ‘Not this one.’”

A disgusted look waned over Tim’s eyes. “That’s not gonna get us anywhere. Can you keep going?”

“I already said we have to.” He steeled himself for the next, another woman further along in years from the sag around her belly and the winkles around her eyes. She may have been a mother. Her memories were far more complex than the others. There were emotions of envy, jealousy, deceit, hatred, frustration, a gathering of women in silken red robes, their dark soulless eyes judging her. They whispered things that made her heart sting. Flashing instances came: a frog in her porridge, a handful of ripped hair, a needle in her dumpling. She wanted to vomit.

She liked to play an instrument of many strings. It gave her a peace of mind, as she knelt by the open doors that overlooked the garden of pines and fishpond. She liked to sing to herself, quietly so as not to alert the others who would criticize her. She also liked to collect books from the western lands, though her knowledge of the words was limited to basic elementary phrases. One day, she was introduced to a man with sharp features of someone learned, but she saw cruelty in his eyes. He was to be her husband. She wept every night thereafter. She wished to run but could not. Where would she go? Who would help her?

On the night of their wedding, she wore a garb of red, including a veil that covered her eyes. She could not see the man that was to be her husband, but she wished not to. Even as he lifted the veil from her face that was painted in makeup, she did not look at him. Her eyes brought shame to her. It seemed the man felt the same. During their consummation, he made her put her veil back on, so as not to see her weep. It hurt when he was inside her. He was not gentle. They never wrote stories of how much it hurt in the stories. She became heavy with child moons later.

Her husband was not there when she gave birth. She did so almost entirely alone in a secluded chamber with a wooden tub of hot water and a midwife. The fabrics beneath her were itchy, and she wanted to flail them away if not for her unbearable pain. Her daughter came wailing into the world, a small shrieking thing with a small patch of damp black hair that sounded so vibrant and alive.

For a blissful moment, she knew true love. It was not a son, but she was hers, and he could not take her away from her. She cradled her and cooed when her legs stopped bleeding, their bodies both wet. Her daughter would not stop crying for a long time, and when she did, she went to sleep. She looked over her daughter’s sleeping basket until she, too, felt her eyes grow heavy. When she awoke the next morning, however, and found her daughter crying, she knew to feed her. She bore her breast to her, and her child hungrily suckled at her perked nipple that had swollen from pregnancy. She had smiled, then, genuinely for the first time since she had first been betrothed.

Then, her daughter opened her eyes for the first time and looked at her. She _looked_ at her, those glistening golden eyes that shone as prettily as the rising sun over the brittle mountains. Her smile melted into fear, and the memories of her treatment came flooding back to her. The laughing, the awful pranks, the shunning, the curses. She wanted to run again, feeling the years of her youth slipping from her. But again, she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

She collapsed onto the floor and rocked her baby, hoping to steal herself from her worries. Her daughter would grow up ostracized, without a secured future. It would not matter how beautiful she would become, how bright she would be, how kind her heart would grow. Her chest hurt, and it was all she could do to look outside. The sun was rising. Why was it giving way to a new day? It was not fair. It might as well have been setting.

Setting. The sun set westward. West. That was it. She would go west, where the kingdoms did not shun those of her kind. She could be free of this cruelty. It would not matter what she would have to sacrifice so as long as her daughter could grow up normally. She would need some money and food and some clothes, and that would be enough. She had read enough stories to have memorized the terrain and landmarks. She was not the most athletic, but she was a mother now. She could do anything.

She could not remember the last time she had seen her husband’s face. She had trace memories of his cold face but little else. Often times she had to hush her child from crying. She did not think anyone would be looking for her, but she could never be too certain. She would go west no matter what. Her feet ached until they blistered, and her lungs were parched from the cold nights and the dryness of the arid mountain ranges. She remembered to eat, as she needed nourishment to make milk. When she was desperate, she would eat bugs and throw stones at unsuspecting rodents and birds, eating them raw, for her flint and tinder had been lost in a river. 

A backwater village came into view beyond the mountain peaks, and by then, she had sold all of her possessions and spent all of her coins and pearls. She asked for lodging for the night after attempting to sell her shoes, of which the owner refused and instead took pity on her. She shared with him her story and journey across forests, rivers, and mountains, of the hopes she had for her daughter who was growing bigger and stronger by the day. He gave her boiled soup of roots and local weeds, and she thought it to be the most delicious thing in the world. When she slept that night, she felt strong enough to travel another empire.

Then, the fires came. It was still nighttime, but the red and green lights lit the skies in an eerie storm of colors and sparks unlike anything she had ever seen. Green fire meant magic. Someone with magic was attacking the village. She saw villagers transform into fel’n in attempts to defend themselves, but it was too late. Steel and arrows rained upon them and left death in their wake. She could not see the attackers, could not recognize the language on their tongues. Why were they attacking? What could have caused this? Why are they here? _My daughter…Is she safe?_ She cradled her baby tightly to her chest and fled, following other women and children down the mountains into caves, listening to their soft sobs and attempted reassurances. She and others thought they were safe until the voices they heard above where not Altorienese. They were as still as could be until her daughter began to cry. The others frantically tried to silence her, but she would not relent.

The rest happened so fast. There was a flurry of cloth rustling, a heightened smell of fear in the air, shrill voices and soft desperate protests. She remembered almost screaming. It would not matter if they found them. She needed to tell them to stop. She tried. “Stop!” she had yelled, but they did not. They tore her daughter from her hands and bundled her in rags, pushing her to the ground as they did so. She rose to fight them, but they held her down and covered her mouth with their dirt-smeared hands. Her daughter would not stop crying, even covered in cloth. _Please stop_ , she begged to them and the gods of the universe. _All of you, please._ She did not.

When the crying had stopped, it was already too late. The mages found them with tracking spells and other spells that read the hearts of the fallen men. They rounded up the women and set fire to the children, their screams forever echoing in her memories. The smells had been unlike anything she had smelled before. It was nothing like a charcoal sear or the innocent fire of a candle. There was a four odor of death in the air, and the smoke made her blind more than her still daughter was. She felt nothing as they seized her, the pain she felt numbing her senses.

The rest was a blur. She remembered not a thing except that they were never gentle. She recognized some words, but she chose not to listen. The rest of their conversations, she gleaned in context. They gathered her blood and slaughtered the others. She stayed alive longer than the others. A mage healed her scars, and another force-fed her when she had refused to eat. The food was mushy and bland, and it was then that she dearly missed the root soup she had last eaten before everything she knew and loved was taken from her.

They bled her every so often, though she could not remember the exact periods of time. It was only when she bled between her legs that they would relent from the cuts and harvest it there, taking no heed to be gentle as they scraped her insides clean. She saw others, too. Those with golden eyes. She wanted to speak to them and ask of how they had been brought here, but her tongue had fallen numb, ever since that night with green fire. She could not scream, and when she wept, it was without a voice. She saw those who had been expended get their limbs cut off one by one. She wanted to look away, but by some twisted fascination, she could not tear herself from the scenes. They had let her watch, though she did not know why. The men always went first, after they had been bled out. They were already walking cadavers by then, the look of death cast upon her eyes.

She knew it was her turn when one of them said so. _They_ knew they were here, whoever _they_ were. The harvestings quickened, and the limbs were cut. She watched helplessly on as the remaining few were slowly killed. Then, it was her turn. She could not remember the pain of her first arm. She had seen it dozens of times, wondering what it would be like by the time she had it done to her, but she had already passed on in her spirit. She thought of her daughter in her final moments and wondered if there would ever be a time when such a thing would not happen to people like her. She hoped with her last dying breath.

The tremors in his hand were pronounced when Lukas finished, the room filled with curses. “Fuck…Fuck!” _The others will be easier. She lasted the longest of them,_ so he told himself, but he could not bring himself to believe it. A picture was slowly forming in his mind, but those responsible had been so damn careful.

Tim was more careful in his approach. “If you don’t want to do this right now, you can take a break.”

Lukas shook his head. He recited what he had seen, so as not to forget the sights like a fading dream. “She understood something western. Pallecian or Harrcen, perhaps, but I can’t remember. She doesn’t remember the words. They needed her the most. She had a daughter with golden eyes. That’s all I can infer. Their blood…They healed her and bled her the most for some reason. Something about their blood…I’m wondering if the thing about their blood was connected directly to their golden eyes.”

The king tilted his head in thought. “So we need to figure out why the golden eyes were so special?”

“Yes, but everyone’s so fucking careful…!” Lukas stomped his foot in frustration, the emotions of those he had read pooling into his memories and becoming a part of him. _They’re dead. Brush them off. They deserved this…They killed Vitus…Allard…Thausson…Dain…_ He knew these people did not kill them, but he had to tell himself that to keep going. He could not let empathy swallow him now.

When his thoughts cleared, and his breathing calmed, Lukas mentioned, “They didn’t seem to look so kindly upon those with golden eyes with this one, it seemed. She was shunned for it. They thought less of her.”

Tim furrowed his thin brow. “Did they? Where I was…” He stopped talking and shook his head. “Nah, never mind.”

Lukas bristled. “Do you know something about the golden eyes, Tim?” _If you don’t tell me, I’ll force it from you. These three people have made me stronger. What could you have possibly hidden that you can hide from me now?_

“I summered in Sommerset Island for a time, did you know that?” he asked.

“No, I didn’t.”

“It was to extend Belethrenic relations with eastern Altorien. There were two people with golden eyes there. They were practically royalty.”

“Was there anything significant about them besides their golden eyes?”

“Nope. They couldn’t have been more different than each other in personality. They were related, but barely. They lived comfortable lives. I saw a bit of Bella and Noah in them.” Despite the gruesome environment they were in, Lukas thought he saw a trace of fondness in the Tulip King’s eyes. “They’re gone now, of course, when I last returned to the island. War took them, too.”

Lukas sighed. “We didn’t fight to target of golden-eyed individuals. Where did this come from if not Belethren or Crodinia? Every single person I’ve read, they remember there being an attack. It all had to have happened at some point during the war, but there were so many locations and battles. We were all spread so thin to match the Altorienese…” He angrily chewed the insides of his cheeks. “Tim, the woman I just read, she saw an attack with green fire. That meant magic. They used tracking spells and the spell of hearts, too. If it wasn’t Crodinian troops, it…had to be the Tabrinnish. They were the only others who knew magic during the war.”

Tim did not like the sound of that, though he had already had his suspicions when advanced teleportation magic had been mentioned. “Mathias did say something about Tabrini...But if it was the Tabrinnish, then they had some nerve conducting this shit in my kingdom.”

Lukas crossed his arms. A cold sweat beaded on his brow. “It’s easier to hide things in Belethen, you’ve told me before. You ought to employ mages in your guard.”

“There's a reason my ancestors didn't do that. The people won’t approve, giving officials arbitrary upper-hands to magic wielders,” Tim grunted, and there was some truth to that. In the Unity of Dotriba, while the general population did not know magic, there were still mages and magic bloodlines that were prevalent in the unity. None were allowed to take high ranks in the military, however, as too much power given to those with magic could send the justice and defense systems out of control, so justified the three kingdoms. Belethren, too, shared the same sentiments.

“I understand,” said Lukas, “but look at where it’s gotten us now. A good mage would have detected this activity a lot faster.” When Tim said nothing back, he moved on to the fourth body. He found that he had been a simple farmer who tended fields and watched his children play by the cliffs and watch them soar in the skies as winged fel’n. He had admired how well they could fly and thought they would make great messengers for the emperor if they trained hard enough. Alas, soldiers came as the war swept over their farmlands, and the man’s children were shot with arrows. He had tried to kill himself until an official seized him and bound his wrists. The room he was taken to was dark and freezing with the air of death. He was bled for a very short time before they dismembered him. His memories ended there.

“You know, based on what I’ve been gathering, it doesn’t seem that the golden eyes are fel’n,” Lukas was started to realize after he finished examining the fourth man and then the fifth. Both had fel’n families, but they could not transform, themselves. “Emil’s pet also claimed he was not fel’n. There would have been many an opportunity to have transformed.”

“So y’think the mages—no, fuck that—they’re druids. They’ve gotta be at their level of magic. Fuck…Y’think they know the golden-eyed ones aren’t fel’n?”

Lukas thought long and hard about the pieces coming together. The golden eyed ones that he had examined seemed to all live different facets of lives. There were poor and rich ones, with no discrimination of whether or not they were women or men. The only things that mattered were their blood and limbs. Every single one had passed out or expired from shock or severe blood loss after being dismembered. They had all stayed conscious during bouts of bleeding. _Think! What is the key?_

Tim spat a glob of something brown on the ground. He appeared to have been chewing on some sort of medicinal leaf during Lukas’ readings. “Actually, they must’ve known. If they were fel’n, you’d think they would have numbed them or knocked them out when taking their limbs. You know how that goes…”

At that comment, Lukas almost thought he had something, but he kept silent and chose to read into the others. _Just a few more and we can rest…_

The sixth, seventh, and eighth ones held no more useful information than the others, though their memories were no lighter on Lukas’ mentality. He had to take a moment to rest between each and gather himself for the last one. When he was ready, he took a deep breath and recited the incantation for what would hopefully be a final time.

This man knew Ésbellish and Pallecian. His late father had been a fur trader who trapped and sold furs of Tomi rock seals to wealthy tailoring companies along the western ports of Dotriba. He prided himself in his difference, that even though he was Altorienese, he was more integrated in western cultures than those of the traditional empire’s. He received the occasional glance and question asked of him about his origins, of which he would happily share his traveled origins and upbringing. When asked about his golden eyes, he would say they were gold because he saw money, and that was why he had been wealthy—not well-known, but wealthy for an Altorienese living in Dotriba. Even when the Sunset War began, his influence and background had given him immunity from detainment, and he comfortably carried out his business without any major setbacks.

He married the daughter of a mill owner in Belethren. They both came from modest businesses of trade, and that must have been what brought them together, he proclaimed. He loved that they seemed so culturally diverse, and he took the opportunity to gloat of it when he could. When it came to having children, however, it became a whole other matter of pride. Those of mixed blood were frowned upon in the empire, but here, his children would be free to express themselves as their own person. He thought of how delightful they would look when they would grow up, thinking they would have his eyes or his wife’s fair features. Golden hair and golden eyes made for a splendid combination, and he thought to have as many children as they could until such a result was produced.

His first child was a son, to both his and his wife’s delight. His hair was not blonde, but his eyes were of molten god, and his body was born healthy and strong. He would be raised to be a businessman, as his eyes surely bore the same eye for wealth that his father did. As his son grew to the age of a toddler, he took him along to his mother’s family mill and taught him how flour was made. He also took him on hunting trips to see how seals were trapped and to study the quality of their furs, ranging from highly sought shiny coats to the lesser-desired drab ones. His son garnered more attention than he did, for as he grew older, his hair turned from a light brown to a shade of sandy blonde. Perhaps in his pride, this was where he had gone wrong. He should have hidden him from the world. He should have given him a normal upbringing. He should not have allowed him to open his eyes to the curiosities of society, for while it could be wonderful and beautiful, it could be heartless and cruel.

He was walking home with his son, he was reciting a fairytale he had picked up during one of his travels in Bävmek, one of a dragon and a princess. His son loved this story. Suddenly, he could not speak. His tongue fell flat in his mouth, and in an instance after that, he could not move his legs. _A binding spell._ He fell face first onto the pavement and broke his nose. He tried to scream for his son to run, but the words would not form. Dark hands came and swept his son up, his shrill screams still ringing in his ears long after he was gone. The last thing he saw of him was the fear riddled in his wide golden eyes.

When he awoke, he had been stripped naked, his clean suit gone, his wedding ring taken. Where was his son, he wondered? He tried to move his head, but it was anchored in place with a tight band over his forehead. A school of men with dark robes and large hoods stood before him, though their attention was directed at each other instead of on him. It sounded like they were arguing. He could not make out their features. They were cloaked in darkness. At first, he thought the words were Belethrenic, but when he listened closer, they were definitely Tabrinnish. He had not studied the language beyond basic conversation, but he attempted to gain context as best he could. They would pay for this. He would find out who they were and make them return his son to him.

“Why in The Nine Divines’ names did you… _him?_ Do you know he’s a known trader in Palleci? People are going to ask about him! Thanks to you, we’ve already had to move our base from Tyse to this...place!”

“How was I…to know that? You said only get the ones with golden eyes, so I did. We got _two!”_

“Two! And that…kid stands out like a...! Someone will have noticed him missing! How many…spells do you think we’re going to need to…everyone’s…?”

He tried to speak. They were talking about his son. He tried to move his tongue, but it was still. He tried to free his wrists, but they were bound like his head. His legs were also as helpless.

“Let’s…this one and see how it turns out. Might not be another…”

They cut him like an animal. He had gone hunting several times and was familiar with skinning. Their lesions were surgical and with purpose. They sliced his limbs in ways that would keep him alive, bleeding him out like some common swine for the butcher. What if they did this to his son? The thought of it filled him with more rage than fear, yet try as he did, he was not only bound by the ropes and straps but by some sinister magic. Heathens, the lot of them. Pure evil. He had already smelled the dried blood when he awoke. He was not the first they had done this to.

He shivered uncontrollably. The room was so damn cold. They knew magic. They could have kept him warm, but they did not. He only knew fear and anger.

“Not fel’n,” one said.

“Not fel’n,” another concluded.

“Should we cut him?”

“It must be done. It’s the only way to feed the…”

Cut him how, he wondered? They had cut him many times. He had been healed once, but he had heard talk of another woman being bled several times. He had never seen her face, but he felt sorry for her.

He soon knew what the cutting was. They went for his left shoulder first, sawing away with a surgical bone saw, never minding the thick flesh that had not been numbed or stripped away. It made for a poor concert, his display of agony, silent screams, and useless flailing. He watched them bundle his arm into a dark cloth that masked the blood, and they proceeded with his second arm. He wished to scream, but above all else, he wished he had the courage to think of his son and wife. He only wanted it to stop. _Nine Divine, forgive me. That I could do better in this life or the next, please have mercy…_

Lukas blinked and looked away. _That mercy came, good sir._ His blood was as chilled as those he had read. He felt sick. “I’m done,” he announced in a low voice. Then, without warning, he held his hand up to the pile of people he had studied. Most of their memories had been simple, their lives as ordinary as could be. Their emotions and pain would forever remain with him. He did not believe he would ever shake them free. It was no wonder why reading into adults was often ill-advised. “I’m going to burn them.” He stole a glance at the last body. “Except this one. His name did not come up in his memories, but he was someone who lived in Palleci. His wife, should she be alive, deserves to know what happened to him.”

Tim made no protest when it came to the Shadow’s magic. He stepped away and watched as Lukas snapped his fingers and lit up the pile with a brilliant bonfire of blue. Frostfire, it was called. It gave off no heat or smoke, similar to Emil’s cold fire, but instead of healing wounds, this fire burned stronger than normal flames and consumed even the ashes of its victims. The Shadow had used it during raids on the Altorienese camps while they slept, burning soldiers in their sleep, as they had felt no heat. By the time anyone had realized what was happening, it had already been too late.

The rulers watched the pile break down into boiled skin and leftover fat, sizzling when flames met muscles, and cracking when it met bone. The process took nearly half an hour, but neither of them uttered a word until the blues flames died down, and nothing remained of the bodies.

When it was done, Tim turned to Lukas and asked, “Don’t suppose someone else used frostfire to dispose of the missing limbs, do you?”

“No, I know they didn’t,” said Lukas with confidence. “It stands that the druids were using the limbs and blood, though I never found out for what. They were trying to find something out, and I think it has to do with the strength of its inheritability—namely who has the ability to pass on golden eyes.” His attention fell to the deceased trader. “He and the other woman had children with golden eyes. They were bled more than the others, the woman more than this man. I wonder if there was some viability in females over males.” He staggered backwards until he met a wall. His head was pounding like a smith’s hammer.

“Shadow, you good?”

“Wonderful.” He was not. “I haven’t slept since I was over the sea. It’s been a long day.”

“We’ll get you to the inn right after this.” Tim walked to the remaining body and studied it. “You said this guy came from Palleci?”

“Yes, and that’s the thing…”

“What is?”

Lukas lowered his brow into a scowling expression. “The man I interrogated during the Red Summer said they were looking for people within the western kingdoms, but from what I gather, aside from this trader, all of these people were directly taken from Altorien. But there memories didn’t imply they were slaves or pets. You told me Altorienese property went missing in your kingdom, and if everything stands true, they must have been these individuals. Even so…”

“What’re ya saying? That someone was going into Altorien to look for these kinds of people, instead?”

“It could be a number of things…Maybe they _were_ pets but that could mean everything we’ve gathered was subjected to memory altercation spells, compliance charms, faulty information, a different location…But I have a strong feeling this whole operation’s been taking place long before the Sunset War began. And there’s a damn piece missing in all of this.”

“That being…?”

“How none of this has been brought to light before.” Lukas swept his arm over the space where the bodies had vanished. “How did we miss this, Tim? Were we not paying attention? Were there golden-eyed soldiers on the battlefields, or were they being plucked right under our noses this whole time? Mathias and I talked about this, but we could not bring ourselves to remember anyone with golden eyes before.”

Tim wore a ponderous look. “Could be that we just didn’t care. Your brother’s got, what, violet eyes. That’s not something most people have, but you don’t make a big deal about it.”

Lukas hopelessly shook his head. “That’s exactly what Mathias told me, and yes, I’d say it’s not important, but until we find out what makes the golden eyes so significant, I can’t help but feel that we’ve not looked hard enough. That makes me ashamed of myself.”

“Huh. Didn’t know the Shadow could feel that way.” He had seen the carnage the blood bearer of The Ruined had wrecked on the battlefields, lands covered in dark ice, soldiers petrified in slick crystals, and fel’n impaled with hailstorms of shards as thick and heavy as javelins. His quiet demeanor and calm expression terrified even those within his battalions, earning him an infamous reputation and appropriate title, thereafter.

Yet Tim was also familiar of Lukas’ affections towards Mathias and Emil. “I’m capable of humiliation, Your Majesty. I have concerns for the people of Crodinia, and if their well-being should involve our neighbors, then those concerns extend further.” He gave the remaining body a glance before he froze it over again. He could not bear to look at its face. “Even if the others _were_ pets, telling their owners that they were brutally murdered will make rumors fly.” Tim agreed with this. Lukas pointed to the last body. “This one, I want you to do to find out who this man is and return him to his wife. He was a Tomi seal fur trader who spoke Ésbellish and Pallecian. He was apparently kidnapped in Tyse—hence why the operations moved to Stamper, because of his higher profile. His wife is the daughter of a mill owner. His son was also kidnapped, but since he’s not here, I can only assume the worst.”

“You’re giving _me_ orders?”

Lukas ignored Tim’s balking. “I don’t know Pallecian or Belethrenic quite like your family. His wife is Belethrenic, so hopefully your audience might be better suited to giving her closure.”

After a moment of internal debate, Tim finally agreed. “And what are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to get a good night’s sleep, find myself a ship, and pay a visit to the Kirklands.” He finally made the announcement that both of them had pushed off until now.

The Tulip King would have guffawed had he not worn a face of stone. “Shit, ya don’t think yer taking this a little too far, Shadow? Everything up until this point’s been something you could handle. What are you going to gain from talking with them?”

 _It is in my blood to seek destruction._ “Assurance. A peace of mind. I don’t know. There are things we left in the darkness, and I fear if I don’t take care of them, I’ll have lost.” Hearing the words come out, he could have laughed at how paranoid he must have sounded. He really needed to sleep.

Tim must have thought the same thing, for he placed a heavy hand on Lukas’ shoulder. “I think you need to step back and really think about what you’re getting yourself into. Say the Kirklands know about this or have something to do with this. Then what? We don’t even know if this entire thing is good or bad. You’re wasting your time. Shit, you’ve been wasting some of mine.”

 _You wouldn’t have gotten this far had you not cared, yourself, Your Majesty,_ Lukas wanted to say to him, but he held his tongue. “In the ideal case that we came across a secret genocide for the greater good, then I will simply thank those responsible for their time and happily return to Mathias’ side. And if not, I’ll have to pay a visit to a place I thought I’d never return to…and maybe make one little brother very unhappy.”

“Is that all this is? Seeing if the potential threat has something to do with Emil’s pet?”

“He has golden eyes, that much is clear,” stated Lukas. He saw the exasperation in Tim’s eyes. “You’re wondering why I don’t kill him now and be done with it.”

“Nothing else’d hurt your brother.”

“I gave Emil a pet so he wouldn’t be lonely. He has an interesting heart, that boy. It’d be a waste to dispose of him. My brother would never forgive me for as long as he’d live.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “Right. Ya can’t alter his memories.”

“Correct…”

Tim and Lukas deeply contemplated setting fire to the building and torching the basement to the ground, as well, but they thought better of it, lest they attract unwanted attention. They left with the body wrapped in a thick box, still set on everfrost crystals, the Belethrenic soldiers carrying it behind their king as they went on foot to their inn. The whole scene must have looked preposterous after what had occurred in the basement, and Lukas tried his best not to notice the curious eyes staring at them.

It was noon when they at last arrived at the inn. Lukas’ head was spinning when Tim spoke with the innkeeper and took him to his room. “I need a damn bath,” was the first thing that came out of Lukas’ mouth since he had stepped outside of that torturous residence.

“We don’t bathe as often as you folks do in Crodinia,” Tim pointed out. He gestured towards a pitcher of water next to a large silver bowl. “There’s a washing basin over there.”

Lukas rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, all sense of composure leaving him. “Nine Divine, it’ll have to do. Good light, Your Majesty. Do not disturb me unless the inn is on fire.”

The king did not leave. He stepped into the doorway and stared at him for what felt like an eternity; Lukas’ concept of time had severely warped. “Yer not thinking of going to Tabrini alone, are you?”

“I am,” he decided then and there.

“Mathias is going to lose his shit.”

“Good. He’s always been something of a tight-ass.”

“I mean, ya don’t think you’re stickin’ your nose into too many places? We’ve got Dotriba, Altorien, Belethren, Tabrini, and Crodinia caught up in all of this. Anymore, and someone’d think you were trying to start a blame game.”

 _Maybe I am. I don’t know yet._ “I’m not trying to point fingers at anyone, Your Majesty. I seek the truth. The last thing I want is to find out a family like the Kirklands is responsible for this mess.”

“Pah, you said it, not me.”

The Shadow snapped, his patience breaking and his usually velvet voice seething with hot poison. “You’re suddenly being quite resistive for someone who’s dug his nose into this a whole lot, too, don’t you think? I’m surprised you’ve staked out this long. Someone like you should’ve dropped this whole business and gone off to find other ways to squeeze stars out of the commonfolk like you always do. So why, then? Why _have_ you been as invested as you have been, Your Majesty?”

At that last question, the Tulip King wore a look Lukas had never seen displayed on his person before. It was a mixture of hidden pain, longing, and an emotion forlorn. “Why don’t you use the spell of hearts on me if you’re so curious?”

Lukas’s nerves shot into his stomach, and suddenly he was alert and guilty. _Does he know I used it on him already?_ Nevertheless, he chose a cautious response. “I want to hear it with your own words.”

Tim’s expression was no different from before. What should have hardened into a stoic glare still bore emotions too complicated for Lukas to comprehend. “I owe someone. This might not help rest their case, but by extension, I’m indebted to them. But seeing how this whole thing is going, they wouldn’t think it was worth it. I’m not gonna say any more than that.” The answer was vague and nothing satisfying, but it was definitely rare to hear that Tim owed anyone anything to take him this far. “Still not satisfied with that answer? Ya gonna use the spell on me, Shadow?”

 _I already did._ Truth be told, Lukas might have strengthened his resolve enough to pry something more out of His Majesty, but he, too, was indebted to him in some ways. He regretted ever peering into his heart. “No. I’m sorry. I trust you, Tim.”

He stepped back from the doorway, the stony mask returning to his face. “Alright, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get complicated! That said, it's been a crazy 4-ish months since this story began! Thank you all for reading as always!


	25. His Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukas travels to the heart of Tabrini.

In his hand were fifteen envelopes, all folded, signed, and sealed with the royal Crodinian seal. “Send one out to Mathias every day from top to bottom—by falcon. If I have an early return, you will know, and you can burn the rest of the letters. Do not forget our narrative.”

“You _really_ owe me for this, Shadow.”

 _Yes, that._ “We will only buy steel raw and manufactured from you for a decade. Same with crop seeds and non-holistic medicines. Ferroak lumber, nine years.”

“Make it twenty.”

“Twelve.”

“Seventeen.”

“…Fourteen.”

The Tulip King was satisfied with that answer. “You don’t need to hear it from me, but…be careful.”

“You, as well. Nine blessings to you.”

“Nine blessings.”

Lukas gave Tim his fabricated letters and turned. He disappeared into the shadows of wooden cranes and cargomen, the sounds of the sea and merchants drowning out his thoughts. Fishermen bartered for the best catch, shellers examined the day’s oyster hauls, fur trappers were lowering their shipments from their vessels to be brought to tanners, and gulls squawked impatiently for guts and scraps. He stole traces of conversations in Belethrenic, Hummrelish, Ésbellish, Abrennish, Chiallan, and even his mother tongue, Crodinian. The familiar words of his language made his heart ache for home. _Steel yourself._ As he searched the docks, he came across a group of black-haired men, their eyes dark and vacant, and their skin pale beneath the grime. _Altorienese._ A shudder passed through him, as he stole a glance and continued on. None of them had golden eyes.

He had paid passage for a ship to sail eastward across the Sea of Ra’s to a port in Andol Bay, where he would travel up the Jord River to the overcast central capital of Tabrini, the City of Brysowgig. From there, the royal palace sat in the heart, a construction similar to the royal palace of Tyse. Lukas would try the palace first and see if any of the Kirkland rulers were there. If not, he would push his way to Castle Kirkland, the true stronghold of the Kirkland family and once the dwelling place of the oldest of The Nine Divine.

“ _Volt’s Maiden!_ Last call for _Volt’s Maiden!_ ” A man’s booming Belethrenic voice cut through the crowd like a knife to Lukas’ ear. That was his ship. He ducked past a heavy box and stepped over a pool of fish entrails and hurried over to the man. Before showing himself, he removed his hairpin, kissed it, and shrank it away. The left side of his hair fell over his ear and tickled his cheek.

“I’m seeking passage on _Volt’s Maiden_ ,” Lukas came to the man holding a ferry slip. Belethrenic writing detailed his name, purpose, cabin number, and confirmed payment.

The man looked at the slip and gave a nod. “Up’s the deck and one floor below to the left is your cabin.” He continued to shout when Lukas walked up the boarding dock, the sight of the ferrying ship towering above in a grand commercial fashion.

 _The Belethrenic have always been known for their ships…_ He never tired of looking at the Belethrenic vessels. They were grand marvels of woodworking and artistry, sometimes capable of holding four floors of decks filled with crew cabins and cargo holds. They were designed to withstand the harsh waves and winds of the Talas Ocean, but they were comfortable and narrow enough to hold passage through Limsekr’s Struggle far to the south. At the same time, their finishes were beautifully decorated with waterproof glosses that painted the ferroak hulls rich mahogany reds, golden ambers, and lacquer blacks. _Volt’s Maiden_ had a figurehead of a woman holding a trident and a lightning bolt, as if in Harrcen mythological fashion. Such symbology was believed to allow ships to brave storms and grant safe passage to their destinations. _Well, since this ship’s still standing, it serves that the practices work._

The ship Tim had chosen for Lukas was a dual-purpose vessel for transporting goods between Tabrini and Belethren, in addition to passengers traveling between the kingdoms. There were more passengers than deckhands and merchants, it seemed, as the ruler saw families and giggling couples overlooking the railings and running aimlessly around the deck. Lukas went below to his cabin and studied his room’s amenities that would serve him for the next three days. The distance between Stamper and Andol Bay was smaller than that of Markal and Tyse, but ferrying ships such as these were slow to sail, so as not to disturb the cargo and passengers. “Think of it as a cruise, Shadow,” Tim had said when Lukas had complained of the lost time. “If I put you on a merchant ship, they’re gonna ask questions about where you came from and what sort of business you’re doing abroad—that’s assuming _if_ they don’t recognize you. And if they do, you’re on your own to cover for yourself. Think you can wipe someone’s memories without anyone noticing?”

He did not, as much as he was confident in his skills. Wiping spells were always flashy, casting an unmissable bright light when someone’s memories were tampered with. Attempts to use it on any vessel would draw attention, a merchant’s ship especially. They must have been designed that way, Lukas assumed, so as not to be misused by scheming individuals. He opted for the passenger ship shortly after some thought.

As it stood, anyway, Lukas wanted to use the time to rest. He withdrew himself to his cabin and listened to the muffled sounds of passengers chatting and crew members cursing and shouting above and below. Black-tipped gulls and red-billed herons honked and cried in shrill tunes, and plump nestle terns bobbed like lilies in the ripples and wakes on the sea’s surface. When they departed from the dock, he looked back at the port of Stamper and thought he would not miss this city. He prayed there would be a quick vessel to take him to Tyse on his return trip.

“Why even bother coming back to Tyse?” Tim had asked him after he had told him of his itinerary. “Y’don’t want to just go straight back to Markal?”

“ _The Little Trumpet_ is still stationed in your capital’s docks, and I thought I would genuinely use the time to sightsee. Plus, I said I’d learn to make waffles with your siblings.”

The Tulip King had smirked, then, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s your call, not mine. I think Mathias is going to be mighty envious when you go back.”

“He will be,” Lukas had agreed. “That’s why I’d like to learn how to make waffles.”

Such a moment seemed so far away now, Lukas spaciously mused while staring out of his portcullis. He was glad that he had a window to see out of, as it helped pass the time when he grew bored of his books and practice spells. He only went outside of his cabin to take food or use the privy, caring not to make eye contact with the other passengers. He did not hear anyone aboard who spoke Crodinian, though he could never be too careful.

Fortunately, it seemed that everything would go as normally as could be. He only wished his brother’s seafaring voyages had been just as uninteresting. _Emil, I hope you are getting along well with everyone. Be strong, little brother._ He would need to be strong, too. Things would be different in Tabrini. He would not be untouchable as he was in Belethren, as mages were prevalent in the western kingdom, and magic flowed freely through the islands down to the very earth and water. Lukas had always hoped that someday, he would be able to explore the island kingdom’s landscapes and history with his own eyes, but never like this, under the guise of secrecy and arriving with a biased notion.

 _Did you know about the kidnappings, too, Allistor?_ He picked at his nails and cleaned them of dirt with a file. The Ranger King had had no implications of scoping out the Altorienese, last he had visited. There had been a moment when he had seen Leon during the Shadow and Mathias’ duel, but the moment had been so brief that it could not have been so significant…could it?

The days at sea droned on as dully as the stormless waters could be. It made sense, since they were not traveling anywhere near The Bolts, the southeastern islands that drew storms in like honey to flies. The ship had employed two weathermages to keep the storms away, and as it was summer, the passengers made the most of the sunny skies until they would reach the United Kingdom of Tabrini. A fell mist always surrounded the islands, no matter how much the weathermages tried to clear the clouds and fog. There _were_ episodes of sunshine that passed through on occasion, though only rarely and quite unpredictably. When they did occur, the residents were said to have made quick use of them for sport or picnicking. Lukas believed he would find no better picnic than in the company of his husband, no matter where he would venture.

On the third and last day, when _Volt’s Maiden_ was to land, Lukas went above, carrying his belongings and joining the other eager passengers for the view ahead. He listened to the conversations of families and the squabbles of women with feathered hats. The women with powdered faces and chortles were, without a question, Tabrinnish variety. He did not like the snide language of Tabrini, nor did he particularly enjoy the food or the culture. The land, itself, was one thing, but there had always been something rather…off about how the island kingdom worked.

His first glimpse of Tabrini came through a thick wall of fog as white as goat’s milk. The day still young, the sun’s rays from the heavens created a heated draft that warmed the surrounding ocean and lifted tiny droplets into the air. The heat was not pronounced as it was in Belethren; rather, it was a muggy sort of atmosphere that made Lukas wish he had brought thinner clothes.

 _“Laaaaaand!”_ someone from the crow’s nest bellowed above. Children screamed and jumped up and down the railings, hoping to get a better view of the main island. Similar to the Islands of Morstur, there was one singular main island where three of four provinces settled. The provinces were once separate kingdoms, until the great King George Irkman III had rounded up the warring neighbors and unified them all under a singular kingdom, hence the formal title, the United Kingdom of Tabrini.

Andol Bay was the largest port in Tabrini, stretching hundreds of meters outward, a mouthing gateway between the Jord River and the Sea of Ra’s. Ships littered the bay like hungry gulls after a fishing haul, some large and imposing and others humble and simple. The windmasters directed the wind in _Volt’s Maiden’s_ sails towards an open dock in the port, the island getting clearer into view. The streets all along the port were filled with taverns and inns, as was common practice for travelers and common sailors. To Lukas’ disappointment, the architecture was all too similar to that he had seen in Tyse, but the colors were dull and pale creams, buttered yellows, and chalky grays. Closer still, he could smell salt, fish, and iron growing stronger as the ship slowed to a halt, and the sails furled into long canvased logs above. Sailors of all different cultures and kingdoms clogged the arteries of main streets, and all were attending to their own affairs, pushing and shoving others out of the way if need be.

 _I will do the same,_ Lukas resolved, when he departed from the ship, his bangs sweeping over his eyes in the _dracay_. There was a stench to this place that was unlike that he had smelled in Stamper. It was not a recreational smell, nor was it the abundance of fish. It was a foul smell of rubbish and decay, and he could only be grateful that it did not smell of death. He had smelled plenty of it during the Sunset War.

On he went, westward to the innermost portion of the city. He could see the Jord River from the ship, and he meant to follow it until he found himself a ferry that would take him upstream. If not, he would sail it, himself.

“Ferries to Brysowgig?” The ferryman he first inquired scratched his chin. He had a dark brown stubble across his square-jaw. “There’s one that’s headed there tomorrow. It’s not meant for passengers, but if you’re so desperate…”

“It matters not. I can pay,” said Lukas. He did not hold out his coin purse.

“Again, if you’re so desperate,” the man repeated, “come back here tomorrow at the crack of dawn and find a man by the name of Thomas. He’s the one to speak with.”

Lukas thanked the man and left to look out at the Jord River. The bed had long since lined over with stones and brick and fused with magic. There was no bucolic sensation to be enjoyed here. _Perhaps I should take Tim’s advice and play the part of a tourist._ He had never been to Andol Bay before, and while he was confident in the Tabrinnish language, he had never taken the time to truly practice himself on the commonfolk. Perhaps there were interesting potions, charms, or spellbooks to be discovered in the magic-strong kingdom. Suddenly a wave of excitement overwhelmed him, and he took that in stride so as to distract himself from the events of Stamper.

The Shadow browsed shops on his lonesome until he found alleys dedicated to magical applications. There were bookstores, potion breweries, familiar shops, and charm vendors galore. He honestly felt like a child seeing the Red Summer for the first time and relished in browsing selections on shelves, crates, and cages. He leafed through a transfiguration book and found it interesting enough to purchase. He sampled some potion of confidence and found his nerves returning to him, as though he had been blessed by The Valiant that very instant. He refrained from purchasing a vial, fearful that Mathias might stumble across it when he returned home. _He’ll try to conquer the southern kingdoms with a drop on his tongue, no doubt._ Further, he stumbled into a knickknacks store dedicated to the magical practices. Tomes, wands, crystals, and charms were tucked in every corner and stuffed in every space in between. Lukas had to fumble through the floors and step over boxes of dusty trinkets to find anything of interest. He saw orbs meant for fortune telling, tarots intricately painted with symbols of the gods old and new, and he found sketches of the human body, detailing the flow of spiritual energy that guided the living’s course. To his distaste, he also spotted a single shrunken head with its papery skin wrinkled like a dried prune and its mouth sewn shut like a burstup doll. It hung by its long spindly hair with a nail tacking it disrespectfully onto a wooden beam, and the owner, a knobby old man of at least fifty years, inquired if he wanted to purchase it. Lukas gently declined.

His browsing trip complete, he thought to find room and board for the night. He looked into the hearts of innkeepers and tested their trustworthiness, when eventually he came to a warm-looking inn filled with families of merchant status or higher, their waistcoats and dresses of higher quality fabrics than typical commonfolk. “Ram’s Tail…?” _Where do these inn names come from, honestly?_ He boarded in a room between two families. On the right of him, he could hear a mother singing to her infant as it wailed on in high-pitched drones. Lukas drowned that out with a temporary dampening spell. On his left, there was a chatterbox of a boy asking his father hundreds of questions without tire. Where would they go tomorrow? What sorts of things were they going to buy? Would they be able to purchase a puppy? How big did leviathans get? So on and so forth, until Lukas used another dampening spell.

Emil had never been so outspokenly curious as a boy, Lukas reflected. He had satiated his lack of knowledge through reading, a hobby that Lukas, himself, encouraged, though he wished he could have let him satisfy those curiosities through means of firsthand experience. _I should have taken you hunting and sailing. We could have gone camping, and I could have taught you how to forage for firecorns and glass-caps._ There were more things he regretted, but he could not dwell on them now. Emil had become his own man, and he knew he could not be coddled forever. Even so, Lukas wished he had been more attentive of his needs. He should not have turned his attention to the kingdom so often. He could have made time for his brother. He could have shown him how much he loved him.

His bed felt the emptiest it had ever felt that night, and it had not occurred to him just how long it had been since he had slept by himself. Even when he had fallen asleep to reading in the castle, Mathias had always found him and carried him back to his bed. He had never been cold and unfulfilled. _I’ll come back to you. Don’t you worry._ He silently prayed to The Fair before sleep came to him, that he might come home to sights welcoming and unchanged. He wanted that more than anything.

Come the eve of morning, Lukas put on a simple black robe with an equally black tunic and belt underneath. He pulled up his breeches and fastened the straps across his black boots, and then examined himself in the looking glass. _Very befitting of my title, I must say,_ he musingly thought, turning around to see if the folds were smoothed out. When he was satisfied, he checked his belongings, packed, and left his room. Downstairs, there were already early rising merchants breaking fast to eggs, beans, meats, and twice-baked bread. The morning meals in Tabrini were heavy with protein, Lukas had learned, and he thought it appropriate for him to replenish his physical strength for the passage to the capital.

“A sharp mind requires a sharp body,” his father had told him. “If you do not care for your physical health, your other senses will wither away at you: hunger, sores, fatigue, sickness. You only have one body, so use it wisely.”

 _That’s one good bit of advice you gave me, Father_ , Lukas thought as he ran down a plate of stewed beans and eggs. He devoured the slices of smoked pork in bites that would have made Mathias balk, and when he was done, he threw down a handful of silver moons, turned in his key, and left for the canals. He felt stronger, to be sure, his stomach full and his senses alert after a good night’s rest. With the streets nowhere near as crowded as the afternoon hours, he could walk in the middle without having to push his way through foreign smells and unknown dirt.

True to the man’s word, there was a team of men loaded small boats of supplies on deck. Lukas inquired for a man named Thomas, to which one pointed him to a portly man with a glowing pipe in his mouth. “Are you Thomas?” he asked, and the man nodded with a suspicious twist of his lips.

“Who’s asking, here?” His voice was gruff, but it was common Tabrinnish as far as Lukas knew.

“Petter,” he used his late father’s name. “I seek passage to Brysowgig by river. Can you take me there?” 

Thomas leaned his head to the boats that were filled top and bottom with supplies. “This isn’t a luxury cruise ship. You don’t want to take a coach?”

“Too slow. I won’t take much space on your vessel. I can pay.”

The ferryman gave Lukas’ body a rundown. It was not surprising that he would have his suspicions. To that, Lukas peered into his heart and found nothing concerning a threat. _Not that I wouldn’t be able to handle him._ “Two suns,” he said. “You don’t got that, take your business somewhere else.”

Without a word, the Shadow pulled out two golden coins and handed them to Thomas. He had expected to pay three suns for such an abrupt request, so he was pleasantly surprised.

His seat on the ferry was atop a tower of crates that reeked of gunpowder. He wrinkled his nose, as the smell brought back memories of the night Emil transformed—that and its use in the war. _Nay, I took no part in the war. I am Petter Bondson, dark king of boxes._ He did look like something of a king as he sat on his wooden throne, the rest of the ferrymen rowing or sorting inventory. He was as still as a shadow, never moving, no matter how sharp the turns in the river rocked them. It would be five hours up the Jord River before they would reach Brysowgig, so he once again found himself having to enjoy the cruise and busying himself with his newly purchased spellbook.

“You a traveling mage?” Thomas came to ask him when he was done giving orders to his crew. “You’re accent and clothes tell me you aren’t from here.”

“You’d be correct. I’m from Crodinia.” He saw no reason to lie. “I’m hoping to visit an old friend.”

“Huh. You always travel like this to meet your friends?”

Lukas thinly smiled. “Usually, no. This is something of a surprise visit.”

“Hope your friend is a surprise-loving kind of chap.”

“I do, too.”

The capital of Tabrini was chosen as the City of Brysowgig, for its access to the Jord River and easy passage to the north and south made it a centralized hub of trade, communication, and defense. It was the largest and most populated city, stretching fifteen kilometers across—and it was still growing. The buildings were made up of brick and wood with coats of plaster and clay shingles to keep out the frequent rains. The extension of edifices could reach from one block to another, scaling as tall as four stories, which was far grander than anything commonly seen in Markal. However, the scale had been a result of space constraints; since Tabrini was an island, the city was constantly having to adapt to the ever-growing population. Because of the acquisition of Altorienese lands, the United Kingdom of Tabrini was enjoying a surplus of natural resources from cheap labor to produce, metals, clays, and spices. Their economy had been competing head-to-head with Belethren since the Sunset War came to a close, and it was a matter of time before one kingdom would prevail as the winner. Lukas was glad that Tim and Allistor seemed to be on amicable terms, at least. The same could not be said for the other three rulers of Tabrini.

Lukas believed there would be a formal and stuffy process of paperwork and waiting if he simply strolled up to the palace. Hearings had become not as personable as they were in the past. At the royal palace, there was a council that governed a bulk of the kingdom’s populace. There were Ministries of Finance, Defense, Humanities, Diplomacy, Sanitation, and so forth. It sounded well and good on paper to divvy up the tasks among several departments, especially given it was a place that was experiencing a population spike, however the practice seemed to give the kings less power.

The road to the palace was not difficult. All streets led inward towards the center, and in that center was the capital. It was foolish, Lukas thought, that it could be so easily navigated by invaders. They would have to break through the naval and ground defenses first, of course, but that he could find the royal palace without asking for directions made him want to roll his eyes.

Like Tyse, the Kirklands’ palace exterior was rather plain in appearance, the main distinguishable trait being the clean whiteness of the walls preserved by magic. The banner of the royal family waved in several flags strung to poles: a lion, a unicorn, a stag, and a dragon. All along the fenced perimeter, there were soldiers with brilliant red coats. _That’s more like it. Tim could follow their example. Now if only you weren’t so cheap in your employment._ There was a small scattering of pedestrians and foreigners roaming the palace exterior. Some strolled in as though the palace were a library, to which Lukas did the same. Inside, he was shocked to find it open to the public, as there were halls filled with lesser nobles and commonfolk studying the oil paintings and admiring the artifacts of far-off lands. Lukas recognized some of Altorienese design, others of Abrennish making, and some of Harrcen ruins.

He deduced where the main gathering room was, noticing the overly grand velvet carpeting and painted ceilings that could have rivaled those in northern Harrce. Heavy curtains of red were draped in symmetrical waterfalls along the tall walls, giving the gathering room an atmosphere of grandiose and lavish imposition, of which Lukas was immune to. There were four seats, the furthest on the left being the tallest and fanciest, with gold trimming and precious gemstones etched in facets over the headrest and legs. All had plush velvet seats. Lukas considered sitting in the largest just once and seeing if Crodinia’s throne needed some renovating. He decided against it.

“Do you have business with the council or Their Majesties?” a nasally man with a long nose asked him when he was spotted. He was wearing a dark navy suit in contrast to the royal guards, but his stature and inquiry made him sound important.

“As a matter of fact, I have business with the kings. Are any of them in today?”

“I’m afraid not.” No surprise there, seeing as how none of the four seats were occupied.

“When might I have an audience with them?”

“If there are matters not deemed an emergency, you can take them up to the council ballot. You can fill out a form and have it served and addressed in two weeks’ time.”

 _Two weeks!_ Lukas wanted to balk, but his face was smooth as porcelain. “I see. And where might I find one of these forms?”

He was directed to the east wing of the palace where a thick box of ferroak wood sat against a wall with slips of blank forms neatly piled on a neighboring table. There were quills and ink for completing said forms and depositing them in said box. Lukas peered into the narrow slit cut into the top and found a healthy pile of slips already turned in. _This is ridiculous. I’ll get nowhere here._ He tried, at least. He did not think anyone would tell him of the kings’ whereabouts, not without formerly announcing his position, and even then, he did not want the Kirklands to prepare anything flashy for him in advance, good or bad.

He sat and pondered for the greater part of an hour. Commonfolk came and went, marveling at the palace décor. He supposed it was foolish to choose to come here so suddenly without any idea where the four kings might have been. And even if he found one of them, who was to say they would be willing to tell him anything without coercion?

 _I’m not going to get anywhere by sitting around._ Having known that the royal family was not in attendance, there was one last sensible location he would have found them in. _And that involves traveling all the way up north. What a lovely adventure I’m having._ To cover northern and southern grounds, the royal palace and the family castle of Tabrini were built in the largest cities of the northern and southern old kingdoms. The cities, in fact, had been named after the kingdoms of old: Brysowgig and Chottsym. _Chottsym it is._ It would be a journey into blind territory, but he would rather roam the kingdom than idle around the capital for weeks to come.

His mind made up, Lukas stood and proceeded to exit the palace. The commonfolk around these parts made small gatherings towards the main doors, their laughter and nasally voices ringing in his ears. _It’s no wonder why Allistor prefers to hole himself up in the castle._ He was nearly out when he heard a woman squeal with surprise.

“Oh! Watch where you’re going, young man!” she puckered with lipstick unnaturally red and outstanding. Her face was covered with white powder, an aesthetic Lukas could not comprehend the preference of.

“Sorry. Truly. It won’t happen again.”

Lukas’ breathing stopped. _That voice…_ It was common among the locals, but he could not shake the feeling of familiarity.

“Well it’d better not!” the woman fumed. She turned away, fanning herself with a foldable fan with down feathers at the ends. The fluff swayed back and forth in the muggy heat that was Tabrini’s weather. But never minding the woman, Lukas swiveled to and fro between visitors until he caught glimpse of her apprehender in question.

The man was a slight hair shorter than him with an unkempt head of straw-colored hair. The slouch in his posture gave indication that he had been something of a lower tiered position, though there was a certain stride to him that desperately sought attention and confidence. Lukas flew closer to him, his ears abuzz with the fervor of his nerves.

 _I shouldn’t be surprised, but this is…_ When he at last caught a glimpse of his face, it was around the bend of one of the palace halls. A sour look and natural scowl was typical of certain Tabrinnish men and women, but it was his unnaturally thick black eyebrows that gave him away. _Found one._ He pressed himself to the corner when the man towards a door that was being guarded by two men with red coats. _Where are you going?_ He scanned his surroundings, finding the crowd of visitors dispersing to more interesting displays of art and the inquiry box further away. He muttered a quick spell of concealment and slipped closer to the man’s body. As the guards stepped apart to allow the man through the door, Lukas slipped in after him, careful not to make any sudden movements, that he might leave behind a sudden breeze.

He pursued the man at a safe distance as the sound of the commonfolk died down in the isolation of the near-empty hall. The man walked on and on until he came to another door, which Lukas followed after him again. A large kitchen of ceramic tiling and seasoned oak counters spread out before him, the place oddly empty. It made sense, as lunch had been served some time ago. The man rummaged through a cabinet above a row of jars until he pulled out a burstup bag. He took this to yet another door, a breeze of crisp air wafting inside as Lukas and the man stepped out.

 _Courtyard_ , Lukas thought when he saw hedges. The Tabrinnish were oddly fond of their hedges and made mazes and sculptures out of them. The ones in the royal palace were formed in rounded cones today. The man waved through row after row of pruned hedges until the greenery gave way to a tile-lined pond. There were swans, ducks, and fish swimming about, and the man clicked his tongue to announce his arrival. Lukas watched for a time as he brought out handfuls of dried green peas and threw them into the water, the waterfowl and fish gobbling them up with gusto.

“Careful! You’ll choke if you eat too fast!” the man laughed. He tossed more peas further out so the fish and ducks in the back could have a chance at some treats. “Behind you!”

“Behind you, indeed,” Lukas said aloud, dispelling his spell of concealment. The man screamed even before he turned around, stumbling on his own feet and falling backwards towards the pond. Lukas shot out his hand and grabbed him by the sleeve just in time.

The man was a series of fits and nerves when he recovered his footing and little else. His bag of peas had spilled in the pond. The waterfowl and fish were having a tussle for the wondrous bounty. “Y-Y-You!” he stammered, pointing a quaking finger at him. “How in the bloody gods’ names did you get in here?”

“You left the door open, Your Lesser Majesty,” Lukas smirked. Granted, he was also adept in casting the spell of concealment on himself. A lesser mage would have been able to only partially hide their presence. “Letting the commonfolk tour the royal palace…Are you daft? That’s one less measure of security for the royal family, were the worst to happen. Considering I was able to slip in so easily…”

“And another thing!” he cried. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Blood bearers have a way of being drawn towards one another, didn’t you know? Consider it a thread of fate. In all seriousness, the royal palace was the first place I thought one of you might be.”

“To the Hither with that!” the young ruler shouted, his face a brilliant flush of red. Lukas did not know if he was embarrassed on enraged. Knowing him, it was a combination of both. “We aren’t drawn to each other _kingdoms away!_ You came here on purpose!”

“I did,” admitted the Shadow, “and since I have you exactly where I want you—” He stole a glance at the waterfowl and fish. The peas were gone. “—I’m going to ask a few questions, and you _will_ answer them, Arthur.”

Arthur Kirkland bristled and shifted his foot back. A combat stance, Lukas wondered? “I don’t know what business you have with me or my kingdom, but I’ll not stand here and let you—you…make a fool of me!”

“Yes, I realize now that I could have been more tactful in my approach, but the sight of you feeding animals was too adorable for your prickly demeanor, Arthur. I couldn’t let my image of you be softened.”

The youngest king puffed his cheeks in such a way that he greatly imitated a toad. Lukas wished he had not lived an ocean away, or he might have enjoyed paying him more visits for such reactions. When Arthur was not stuffy and cynically inclined, his ability to become flustered was highly amusing. It was no wonder why his brothers frequently teased him. He stopped and straightened out his suit that looked comely in appearance; it was a solid olive green that complimented his eyes and hair, and its plainness must have been to blend in with the commonfolk. He looked nothing like a king. “I could make you forget you saw any of that but I am a gentleman, and a proper one knows how to recover himself and maintain composure.”

 _Like you just did a minute ago?_ “I’m going to get straight to the point, Arthur: I’m here because there’s been something terrible going on in Belethren and Crodinia, and I need to know if your family has anything to do with it.”

The look on Arthur’s face appeared to be one of genuine confusion and bafflement. “I—What? _Excuse me?_ What in the gods’ names are you talking about?” He stiffened. “Are you accusing my family of something heinous?”

“There’s no one else who produces magic of high caliber like your family, and you have the credibility—or dare I say infamy—for abusing that blood. Believe me when I say I would not have come here and to Belethren had I not found it necessary.”

Arthur blinked so many times that Lukas feared he had broken. His voice was lost in such confusion that he could not speak for a good minute. “If you’re going to stand here and insult me and my family like this, what, pray tell, do you think we’ve _done?”_

“Kidnapping Altorienese with golden eyes and conducting blood experiments on them,” Lukas put as bluntly as he could. The more direct he was with his approach, the easier it was to look into Arthur’s heart. So far, he found nothing that hinted at innate fear or malice. The fact gave him the first feeling of relief he had felt in some time. 

“Are you _insane?_ ” Arthur’s red face turned pale in a flash, as though he had been slapped. He even flinched. “Even if we were able to do something like that, do you think we have the _time_ to do it?” He shook his head in bafflement. “Blood experiments…! We are a curious lot, but we’re not _evil!_ ”

 _Evil is a subjective label._ “I didn’t say you were, Arthur; I merely want to know if you knew anything. You run the most populated province. You would know something if it happened. I fear this is something that goes beyond a simple genocide.”

The king’s green eyes were wide with horror. “There’s nothing such as ‘a simple genocide,’ _Shadow_ ,” he spoke his name with distaste. Though he had not participated in the Sunset War, he was not unfamiliar with Lukas’ feats on the battlefield. “You’re already using the spell of hearts on me. What could you possibly gain from me saying what you already know?”

Lukas chuckled in a low voice. There was something refreshing about knowing how similar he and Arthur were on a technical level. “I’d have hoped that you would disclose what you knew with your own tongue and dignity, seeing as how the victims lost both before they died agonizing deaths. But you’re right, I could poke and prod through your convulsing muscle until I find something useful.”

“Bother someone else,” Arthur snapped then and there. “I don’t know anything—you _know_ that.”

“Of course, you don’t. It was worth a try, nonetheless. I’m sorry I broke into your palace.” _Although to say that is an insult to my abilities._ He had closure with one of the kings, at the very least.

When Arthur calmed down some, he spoke not so shrilly. “Alright…Alright, start from the beginning, Mr. Bondevik. You’ve come a long way for answers. As a king of Tabrini, I feel it is partially my responsibility to learn of your incident, if it means extending precautions to my people.”

“Spoken like a true king,” Lukas acknowledged, which made the young king regress into a flustered expression. “Before I continue divulging myself, do you have somewhere we can speak more privately?” He looked around the courtyard. “There’s no one around now, but one can never be too sure, given the security of this place.”

After some reluctant grumbling, Arthur led Lukas to the upmost floor of the palace. There was a circular solar with a large glass window that overlooked the courtyard below. _The view is much nicer from up here_ , Lukas thought, as he nibbled on gratuitous biscuits and sipped his fruity tea. He wished for coffee.

Lukas divulged all he knew to His Majesty, starting from the moment his brother’s pet was kidnapped to the discovery of a kidnapping operation taking place within the very capital of his kingdom. He told him of his and Tim’s findings in Stamper, and by extension, Tyse and the Altorien Empire, itself. He detailed the levels of spells and undertakings the druids must have conducted in order to carry out their operations, making sure to be as descript in the torturous methods used to extract blood and limbs from the Altorienese. Arthur looked like he wanted to heave by the end of it.

“Nine Divine, that’s awful,” he choked back his tea. He had stopped eating after Lukas told him of Stamper. “Blood magic, limbs, a specific physical trait…” He rubbed his temple, a noticeable habit of his, as his forehead bore wrinkles whenever he scowled at a reasonably young age. “I’ve read about this before. My family’s library back at Castle Kirkland contains a whole shelf of books on magics of the archaic and forbidden. Mum wouldn’t let me look down there until I was old enough to understand the weight of their contents. I may have stolen a peek at some passages, but I never peered past quick experts and sketches.” His face fell into a frown. “What could I have possibly gained from using my powers for such evils?”

“So this is not the first time this has happened, you think?” asked Lukas. He felt he was getting closer to something. But what…?

“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like they knew what they were doing. And if they are Tabrinnish…well, I’m not sure what it means other than we may owe someone some apologies.”

“Don’t waste your breath.” _The dead don’t forgive._ Lukas downed the last of his tea and turned his attention back to the hedges. Even against the grayish skies, they were a pronounced green. “Before I ask if you’re going to do anything about this, what are you doing at the royal palace? Someone downstairs told me that none of Your Majesties were present today. Had I not found you, I might have waiting two weeks to have my issue addressed. Not a very efficient method of governing, I’d say.”

Arthur continued to frown. “I wasn’t supposed to be here, so it doesn’t surprise me that most didn’t know. I had…misplaced something here.”

“Misplaced?” Lukas echoed with a raise of his eyebrow. “The Bountiful’s blessings must’ve rubbed off on me in Belethren if I encountered you, then. What could have been so important that you had to come here to retrieve it?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Arthur bristled with a warning look. “And before you look into my heart, it’s nothing that would be used against you! It’s more…personable, is all.”

“Ah. In that case, I’ll restrain myself until I have need of further need of you.”

The king scrunched his face, as well as his accursed eyebrows. The thickness of them made Lukas think of Leon. “I’m going to ignore that comment and make one of my own: you’re absolutely insane. If you think you can barge into kingdoms and turn over their drawers and point fingers at them, think again. This is going to come back to haunt you.”

“Maybe it will come back to bite me, but I can’t help it. It’s in my blood.” When he saw Arthur relent a hair, he thought to ask, “How are you doing these days, Your Majesty? Any fallbacks to your ever-growing ‘curiosities?’”

“Shut it, Bondevik. I’m doing well enough without your interference, thank you very much. As for my curiosities, The Arcane has nothing to do with them. It is through my will and my will, alone, that I choose to do what I do.”

“So you say,” Lukas humored him, but his reflective sarcasm did not sit well with Arthur. He had a resting scowl on his face that was beginning to default to his neutral expression, a result of years of torment and teasing by his brothers. Odd, that he would get such treatment, Lukas thought. He should have been the most revered one, considering he had the strongest Arcane blood. Perhaps, since magic was already deeply rooted in the Kirkland family, his blessings had never been so prominent or sought out. It did not even matter that all three of his siblings knew about his special blood, rather than just the eldest. It was so ridiculous that Lukas almost felt sorry for him. “Well, now that I’ve divulged to you all that I know, are you going to do anything about it, Your Majesty?”

“I should take it up with the Ministries of Foreign Affairs and Humanities.” He furrowed his thick brow at the next part, “I think it’s wise not to divulge the details of the kidnappings—only that they are happening to a target demographic. We have Altorienese servants here, but…I haven’t heard anything about anyone getting kidnapped.”

“Should you hear something, inform me about it, would you? It might help me get closer to the answers I seek.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Nine Divine, I would have sworn you were blessed by The Venturous, instead, after hearing your tale.” He paused. “I’ll do that. And I suppose you’ll want to visit Castle Kirkland.”

“You suppose correctly.”

“I’d like to go with you, if you don’t mind, for my own closure and pride as a Kirkland. And if what you say is true about these villains, they are powerful magic users.”

Lukas smiled as sweetly as the Shadow could. “Were Crodinia and Tabrini allies in the past, we might have conquered the world. Very well. I could use the company. Yours is one I prefer over my typical.”

Arthur curiously tilted his head. He looked like a yellow chick. “You didn’t enjoy the Maeses?”

“They’re a good bunch, but I’m not able to talk magic with them as I can you. I think this trip will be rather pleasant.”

“Oh please, knowing you, it’s going to be anything but.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Arthur joins the party]
> 
> Finally a shorter chapter. I'm back on schedule for a little. Because this weekend is a holiday here, the next chapter will be an interlude. 
> 
> On another note, I am pleased to announce that (while the full compendium is not complete) I have completed a hand-drawn draft of the map of the Continent of Eliatha for your reference and viewing pleasure. The link might be messy, but feel free to access it via the main story summary from now on. (Also please let me know if it doesn't work.)


	26. His Expression

He had missed the crisp air of his homeland, with its pastoral and lush forests that flourished in the summertime. The lakes and streams could not compare to the overpowering heights and rivers in the south, in Sar’ph, but here was close to home.

The wind cut into his cheeks. It was not a life-giving wind as the west and its _dracay_. No, here in the heart of the northern lands, the winds came from a place past Cordinia’s borders, in a land locals referred to as “The Beyond.” Flora and fauna were scarce to nonexistent in those cold lands, though not surprising, given that the barrens had not the blessings or protection of The Nine Divine. Here at the heart of Vesnïn, however, he could feel the pulse of life flowing through the earth, wind, and water in steady rhythms, as though the very world was alive and breathing. “We had ourselves quite a journey, didn’t we?”

“Did,” Berwald agreed. Mathias’ men from Markal had departed long ago, despite their initial protests that they were to stay with them until they reached their respective provinces. He had Tino had traveled alone for the greater part of Staven, until they reached Vesnïn.

“I should have bought more gifts for everyone,” Tino audibly regretted. “Rudolf would have loved that horn sculpture, and Linus could have used those beads to make at least three tapestries.”

“Couldn’t carry anymore.” Unlike their southern cousins, those in Vesnïn and Höthson were poor in magic. They could not shrink and unshrink objects at will. They had resorted to traveling by horseback on Morstur’s gifts when they had arrived at the forked path, one leading to the capital city, the other to the north.

The margrave of Höthson had lost a considerable amount of weight on their journey, having resorted to rationing their dried meat provisions, fruits, and nuts, as villages and towns were few and far in between. They had depleted their spirit stocks at the western border of Vesnïn, Tino optimistically believing they would find more as soon as they would come to the next settlement. Alas, whatever place they did come upon, the people had been so humble in their own supplies; their offerings could just quench their thirst before the day was up. Both had traveled and conversed quite soberly as a result. “I’m going to relax in my sauna, stuff myself silly, and share all my stories and gifts with everyone back at the fort.” The further east they progressed, the more Tino vocally dreamt about his return home. He detailed his homeland’s forests, lakes, people, festivals, and saunas, most of all. Berwald had listened to him intently without so much as a comment. He was good at that. “You think Hanatamago is going to recognize me when I return?”

“She will.” Berwald was certain of as much. The tiny, white potato-face of a dog had been rescued by the margrave after her mother and siblings had abandoned her. Born small and frail, she was not fated to survive on her own. Tino had attended to her every need: weaning her, training her, and grooming her. Last Berwald had seen her, she had followed her master like a little ghost or a white shadow. He could only imagine the wailing and moping she had made when the margrave was sent to Markal on a mission.

It was not long until Lomburg was upon them. The city was unmistakably distinguished by its dark spires that littered the rooftops, a result of the first settlers choosing to build in a forest of black-speared pines. “Home,” Berwald said first, being the taller of the two. There was the slightest expression of melancholy. His family and house were here, but it meant his journey had come to an end.

“Looks the same as ever, doesn’t it?” Tino smiled. He had visited Lomburg many a time when his family had traveled to the main city of Vesnïn to discuss militant and economic affairs. He knew the accents and layout of Lomburg just as much by Berwald by now, though his visits had become infrequent since inheriting title of margrave.

“Y’ gonna be stayin’ a while?” the count asked when he and Tino drew nearer. He could smell burning wood and hear children playing. Further off, there was the sound of a smith hammering away and steel and the low slosh of men pulling a tree.

“Oh, you’re inviting me?” Tino smiled in a toying way.

“It’s been a long trip. Still got five more days to the fort.” In the wintertime, it would have taken a grueling nine days on horseback, due to the roads being dark and the cautious means of travel, but as the sun shone brilliantly in the late summer, coming into early fall, an able man like Margrave Väinämöinen would have nothing to worry about.

“Well, if you haven’t tired of my company!” he laughed, accepting in his own way. So it was settled, he would stay two nights to replenish his supplies and rest, also taking the opportunity to sort out gifts for the royal family.

The people of Lomburg were not as reserved as their count, taking the time to stop and greet him as he came into view. Children flocked to the count at his feet like little birds, chirping and hopping up and down at his feet while he distributed sweet nougat, honey chews, cured fish jerkies, and small wooden figurines in the shapes of many familiar animals.

“Berwald’s back!”

“Where did you go?”

“They brought ponies!”

“Tino’s here, too!”

Their parents and other adults congregated around him, welcoming the pair with warm smiles. Though they knew not of his mission’s purpose, they knew he had been summoned to the capital. His purpose did not matter to them, however, so as long as their overseeing count returned unharmed.

“It’s good to see all of you,” said the count with as wide a smile as he could pull, which was scarcely a smirk. After distributing more goodies to the children, he requested passage back to House Oxenstierna, an almost fort-like estate built in a hollow rectangle of two stories. It was situated in the southern part of Lomburg, where the cobblestone pavement gave easier access to the capital roads. Tino followed in eager stride, awaiting a night’s long rest and a full hot meal to restore his health and spirits.

The first time Tino had set eyes on House Oxenstierna, the den of the northern lions, was when he had been six years of age. His father had had business to attend with Berwald’s, and as the high lords spoke, they had permitted the young boys at the time to play with one another. “The young lord is as headstrong as his father, so I’m told,” Tino’s father had whispered in his ear. “Maybe you’ll be able to break him out of his shell.” Even now, Tino did not know how well he had done that, but he prided himself in the fact that he was able to read him better than most. He knew when Berwald was upset, feeling playful, or even laughing. Right now, he could tell Berwald felt a massive relief, knowing that he had made it home.

When the last of Berwald’s gifts to his people were distributed, and his missed affairs addressed, he went to Tino’s usual guest room to see if there was anything he needed. Tino's specific room was close to Berwald’s and opposite the hall, so that they might be able to find each other, come morning. Tino preferred looking out into the city, while Berwald’s room had always faced the inner house’s walls and courtyard.

“Honestly, you’d think they thought you came back from a war,” Tino chuckled when Berwald shared with him how busy he had been. He had changed out of his furs and had donned something more presentable for the later summer weathers. He wore a doublet and a set of trousers that were loose on him, and the place where he had fastened his belt was two notches tighter. “Ha ha, I need to put on more weight for the coming winter,” he joked, patting his flatter belly. “Maybe I should buy some cakes for the road?”

“Yer fine however you choose.” The margrave had always been round-faced as a child, a mirroring image of his family’s people in Fort Höthson. To help combat the harsh climate of The Frigids and to fend off the invaders from Caliger, the eastern province sported a diet of high fat concentration and strong alcohols. It would actually do Tino some good to stuff himself, though the count thought better than to say that. “Thought you might want an early dinner, so you could get ready for tomorrow.”

Tino beamed. “You know me too well, Berwald. Or is it my stomach…?”

“Stomach,” he teased.

Their dinner consisted of fresh bread, spiced hams and jellies, jammed berries, roasted goose, eggs, a warm root stew with cod, and plenty of spirits to go around. Tino broke into song when he had had enough to drink, some of the estate staff and Oxenstiernas joining him. They had grown used to his merrymaking, Berwald, as well.

_Carry me over past time and beyond,_

_To where clear skies and blue ocean waves roar,_

_That ev’ryone gather in lands to call home,_

_And wing-ed beasts live free and soar._

_O’ so goes the tale that once I had sung_

_For dreams dearly ‘parted away._

_Promise to me that you’ll hold close my love,_

_So here still in present I’ll stay._

Berwald recognized that song by its bittersweet melody. _Ruined Regrets_ was a song thought to be sung by The Ruined, itself, in memory of those who had fallen during The Dawning. It served as a reminder to those who had been left behind, yet it also served to cherish and hold dear those who were still here. It was more than obvious by now that Tino dearly missed his home and family.

The count hummed along to some of the tunes, though his voice was not built for vocal prose or trills. When the diners had eaten their fill, and the singers’ throats became hoarse, the commotion dwindled into a handful of hushed voices and cleaning servants. Berwald was exhausted, too, having eaten more than he had in weeks. Tino softly snored on the table, a half-eaten cake in his parted mouth. With strong but careful hands, Berwald easily slung his arm over his shoulder and let him lean into his back. When Tino was secured, he began to stand until he was fully carrying him like a large slumbering child.

It had become known over the years that Tino’s room in House Oxenstierna was reserved for the current Margrave Väinämöinen. The wallpaper was a pale sky blue, a near off-colored white, to match the snows of Höthson on a clear morning. The furnishing was a collection of a bed, a desk and chair, a drawer, a wardrobe, and a vanity. There was a single painting of a great forest surrounding a pool of little lakes, its composition and cool colors offering a sense of peace yet subtle wonder to its location. Berwald recalled it had been painted by one of his many ancestors, the aunt of one of several Count Oxenstiernas. He looked at the painting now, after setting Tino on his bed and pulling the covers over him. It was as though he was looking at a window into the future, that quiet landscape that teetered between the edge of peace and chaos, for he knew that beyond The Frigids lay the rugged cold lands of Caliger.

“Mmrgh…” came the muffled voice of Tino’s dream-filled stupor. Or so Berwald thought, until he started to address him. “Berwald…it’s cold…”

He watched Tino’s eyes flutter open, a pair of bright blue opals in the moonlight. His eyes had a glassier look than the young prince’s, though they were never dull in hue. “I’ll get some warming stones.” He finally stood, but he did not move.

“Berwald, you silly…” The margrave hopelessly smiled. “You mean all those nights together, and you still don’t know what I mean?”

“Stones warm you faster,” he wanted to say, though he was not unaware of Tino’s hints. Without the shelter of the carriage and the company of the escorting knights, Berwald and Tino had always lain their bodies against one another for warmth. He knew there had been nights that his intense gaze had unsettled Tino, but by the drawing end of their journey, he had warmed right up to him and pressed himself to him as a tame cat. No, it had been necessary, Berwald reminded himself, but he felt he had done it for another purpose, too. He urged his feet to move, but it was as though his boots were bolted to the floor by a castobat’s spell. He flinched when he felt fingers wrap around his hand, their size and palm dwarfed by his sheer size. Small, he thought, but full of life. “‘M gonna miss you,” he admitted at last.

Tino smiled a crooked way, nothing like his usual crescent glow that matched his moon face. There was a rosy hue to his cheeks. It might have been the alcohol that had made them so blushed, but Berwald had a feeling it was for yet another reason. “You can always visit me. I love the company at the fort.”

The Lion of the North averted his eyes. Looking at his companion made his chest hot. “If y’ need food, supplies, weapons…”

“Company,” Tino blurted out with a flustered expression. “I know we’re both busy, but we’re not _so_ busy that we couldn’t make time for each other again.” He sat up, the covers falling from his shoulders like water. Berwald envisioned a flashing moment of something revealing underneath, his skin smooth and bare. He wanted to touch him.

No, he resisted the urge. Not here. Not them. Especially the high lords of Vesnïn and Höthson. The emotional compromise…were something to happen to either of them, would they be able to act rationally? He suppressed his doubts and tucked them far far way in the recesses of his mind. He pictured a black place with a black box, and there he hid those feelings away. “If you need me, I’ll be there.” That response was neutral enough, he thought. He prayed it would go no further. Tino released his hand.

Come the second morning, Berwald was surprised to hear that the margrave had awoken before him. A servant informed him that he was in the mail tower, no doubt to send packages and gifts to lands both west and south. The mail tower was located closer to the central part of the city, where access to parcels and letters was convenient for all residents. Berwald skipped breakfast and donned a light coat. He headed out towards the center of Lomburg and saw the dark spire meters before ever reaching its base. Above, as was typical of buildings in Lomburg, the mail tower had a pointed black roof, but its shingles were littered with white droppings from the various courier birds that flew in and out. He could see doves, falcons, hawks, eagles, owls, ravens, and crows all flying about roosts and windows, scattering feathers and droppings in their wake. The whole affair looked like a deranged artist’s rendition of a morning star.

The count scaled the tower up its spiral steps until he reached the very top. In the center were ropes and pulleys that hoisted parcels up and down the otherwise empty space. He saw it go up once, as someone below had a stack of letters to deliver. Further up, Berwald could see a great distance from every cardinal direction of Lomburg, even beyond the black-speared walls and as far as The Frigids on a magnificently clear day. He could also hear the flapping of wings, a grumble of the mailman, and the bubbly voice of a particular margrave.

“…one goes to House Steilsson on the main Island of Morstur.”

“Morstur ‘cross the Blizzarding Seas,” came a gruff voice. Mailmen often had gruff voices from working in the dust and ammonia-filled air of courier birds. “That’ll be five moons for that one.” Berwald heard the clinking of coins before he arrived at the top, Tino handing a bundle of cloth and string to the mailman.

“Berwald, good morning!” the margrave beamed, his smile brighter than the morning sun. “I thought I’d let you sleep in, but it looks like you caught me.”

“Morning to ya, Count,” the mailman gave a short nod and a sniff. He tied Tino’s package to the leg of a strong sea eagle, gave it a whisper, and let it fly off, leaving a loud flurry of flapping wings fading off in the distance.

“That Emil’s present?”

“Yup. Tucked with letters and everything. I’m sure he’ll like it.”

Berwald hummed in agreement. “Didja eat breakfast yet?”

Before he could answer, Tino’s stomach gave a low growl. The mailman wheezed a laugh and sent them on their way, knowing there was going to be a good distance before Tino would get to Fort Höthson. He listed wishful breakfast foods as they made their return to the house. “I was thinking some smörgås, eggs—” He gasped. “ _Köttbullar!_ Berwald, I know it’s so sudden, but do you think—?”

“I’ll ask Oz if he has some,” Berwald lightly smiled, knowing it was one of Tino’s favorite dishes. Köttbullar was a Vesnïn staple of ground pork and beef rolled into spheres. It was a popular dish even among foreigners, though few had had the pleasure of being able to try it until recently.

“I need to get Hippoforth a bag of sugar cubes for the trip,” Tino reminded himself aloud. He had named his pony from Morstur “Hippoforth,” a name which Berwald could not fathom its origins, but a name he had humored, nonetheless. Additionally, as Berwald had not been able to come up with a name for his own mount, “Pinecracker IV,” was what Tino had named his cinnamon-coated gelding. “Let’s see…I mailed everything out to our friends, I’ve packed my belongings…sugar cubes…Berwald, you think I’m missing anything else?”

In a low, cautious voice, Berwald asked, “Need ammunition for the alchemag?”

Tino’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, that!” He exhaled into a sigh. “It wouldn’t hurt to stock up on that. I’m so glad we didn’t need to use it again. Twi—er—Once was enough already…” Though the margrave did not remember the actual events of The Everlasting’s attack, that it had been enough to shatter even the Shadow’s resolve meant it was not something one wanted to remember. The thought of it made even Count Oxenstierna’s blood run cold. What sort of power had they left behind on that island far beyond the ever-stormy seas?

“…prepare more space for the spouse-carrying competition,” Tino continued babbling. “This year’s Ventursfort is going to be something special, I just know it.” It was in the cold of winter when the borders between Höthson and Caliger shared a sort of truce. The weather was typically so harsh on both sides that neither had the energy or resources to attack at full force. Instead, the wintering season—especially around Ventursfort—was used as a means of getting to understand one another’s culture and people. A series of odd festivals were held, even those Berwald considered too strange to be practical anywhere but Höthson. He had been invited to every single one since meeting Tino. 

He listened to his companion continue to fill the silence until they returned to House Oxenstierna. They broke fast with his family, Tino doing most of the talking, despite his face being stuffed with köttbullar. After finishing their meal and packing, the high lords walked to the local temple that resided easterly. Tino would finally be departing when he would finish praying. His outfit had since been fitted with leather and a thick fur cape of splashed grays and whites, perfect for traveling back east.

To The Ruined, Berwald prayed that nothing ill would befall his dear friend; to The Everlasting, he prayed for good health; and to The Fair, he prayed that their friendship would always remain strong and true. Friendship…Yes, it was the bond of friendship that had gotten them through such ordeals in the past. When he had come to the margrave’s aid in times of invasion and bitter snowstorms, when he had sailed with him over the Blizzarding Seas, when they had shared the warmth of the covers during the lonely nights…He prayed to The Wrought, that he might keep his head straight. When he stood, Tino also rose, his last prayer going out to The Bountiful. “This is it,” he let out a deep sigh. He turned to Berwald. “Well, I should say thank you for everything. I’ll write you when I get home.”

The count smiled in turn. Somehow it was easier to do so under the watchful alters of The Nine Divine. He felt an ethereal warmth in his home’s temple that he did not feel anywhere else. “See you, soon, Tino.” On that, they left the temple together, but parted in separate directions, Tino taking Hippoforth further east, while Berwald retreated back into the heart of Lomburg.

His thoughts of Tino began to fade as he hardened himself for his duties as count. He had to attend to his unread letters and requests from his province’s people. There were appeals to make to the crown, imports to manage, exports to distribute, lumber to be graded, documents to sign, men to train…His late uncle, the previous Count of Vesnïn, had always bid him follow close by like a shadow, that he might learn to speak and judge according to the ways of the northern province. From him Berwald had learned how to read, conduct arithmetic, ride, spar, hunt, whittle, sail, and swim, yet though he had learned all he could from his uncle, it had been one thing to be an observer. It was another to be the count.

Had Berwald not been the oldest in the main Oxenstierna line after his parents, he might have been able to make do as a common lord in one of his family’s lesser houses. He would have taken up banners or aided the crown in times of invasion or war, but otherwise, he would have been able to idly go about his own hobbies. He could have devoted his time to woodworking or smithing, making furniture, sculptures, and toys. To see people admire his handiwork and make them smile were some of the greatest joys he could ever feel. And yet, his greatest joy of all might not have been possible had he not bore the responsibility of being the next count. He could not dwell too much on whether or not the trade-offs would have been worth it. He was his person now, and so he would continue to be.

The walls of House Oxenstierna appeared to grow taller as he approached his old home. He had long since gotten accustomed to the blackened spires from the surroundings trees, though he believed if he were to ever retire from his position, he would build a simple cabin of ferroak somewhere close to a river. He could fish and whittle away his days all he wanted, and it would be nothing but simple and quiet.

What awaited him in the walls of his house, however, were anything but. He was not a king by any means, but as high lord, there were responsibilities to undertake with the people of Vesnïn, as well as with His Majesty. Thinking of him, among the many correspondences he had received, Berwald came across a return letter marked with the royal Crodinian seal. This, he opened without hesitation and found the handwriting a looser scrawl of attempted cursive, no doubt from the king’s hand, then. The Shadow’s he knew to be significantly more elegant.

> _Salutations Count Oxenstierna,_
> 
> _I am humbly requesting that you send Markal some black-speared pine lumber. That way, we can build up a new district of the city over to the north. I think it will look extremely much like your home up in Lomburg. It might make the locals interested in what else Vesnïn has got to offer._
> 
> _On that note, maybe you could recommend some other things about Vesnïn that could make visitors interested. I was thinking of increasing tourism to Crodinia, now that we are in a marvelous time of peace. I will take any recommendations, so as long as they are approved by yours truly._
> 
> _I also want to thank you for taking Emil safely over to Morstur. I know it must have been hard for you, as well as him. I hope you were able to help him get a peace of mind before you left. He’s a good kid. Also, if you’re still with Tino, tell him I said thanks, too. He has his own letter, but maybe hearing it from you will make it sound better. Thank you much._
> 
> _Yours truly,_
> 
> _Mathias Køhler_

Berwald chuckled at how the rough formalities of the royal letter devolved when he spoke of his brother-in-law. It was still a marvel how someone like Mathias Køhler ended up leading his people to multiple victories, but then, he supposed, that was why they had butted heads in the past. He made notes of Mathias’ requests and reminded himself to bring them forth to his men. He followed suit with the rest of the letters from his province.

In three days’ time, Count Oxenstierna had sent return letters to the first set of requests, making sure to have his letter to His Majesty being sent by falcon. Affairs within the province were handled slower than preferred, but they were dealt with in a faster fashion than the kingdom capital. The mailman was sending off the last of the letters by owl when his head turned towards the east. “M’lord, something’s gotten the city running amok.” He pointed to the main path leading towards the main road to Höthson, and a sudden sinking feeling dropped into Berwald’s stomach. He leaned past the dropping-caked windowsill for a better look. Through his spectacles, he could see people running out of the way of a rampant horse, its long mane tangled and its flank bloody. 

_Hippoforth_ , he recognized by his long stockings, ash-colored coat, and short legs. He tore himself from the window and stormed down the stairs, so fast that he could have been stumbling. When he reached the tower base, he sprinted towards the east roads until he saw the maddened pony galloping down a cleared path. He dug his boots deep into the cobbled stone and braced himself, holding his arms out in a widespread arch. As Hippoforth rampaged forward, he could hear his shrill panicked whinny. Something had spooked him, but what spooked Berwald most of all was that his rider was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, Berwald felt the weight of the charging pony slam into his body, the force hitting him like a boulder. He gritted his teeth and growled to bear the pain, his ankles burning, his chest caved in. “Easy. Easy…” Hippoforth let out a high-pitched neigh and wriggled to get free, but the Lion of the North had a body built like a fortress and remarkable strength. With a sudden lunge, he threw his weight back at the pony and pushed until he gave way and fumbled backward. “Steady,” he coaxed him with a soft voice. He grabbed his loose reins and stroked him behind the ears, a spot where Tino had discovered he liked being petted. Hippoforth’s crazed look calmed and cleared, and his deep brown eyes softened into a gentle gaze. He gave a snort and a shake of his head and then proceeded to nibble on Berwald’s coat.

Several commonfolk had seen the event. When they were certain that no one had been harmed, they cheered and walloped for the count’s valiant feat. “Nine blessings, Count Oxenstierna!” the cried, but Berwald’s focus was elsewhere. Hippoforth’s saddle was still intact. He slung himself over his back and snapped the reins, starting off in a trot before the commonfolk parted. He said not a word as he urged his mount to accelerate into a cantor, not daring to break into a gallop for fear of exhausting the poor pony.

There was too little snow to be had during the summertime, as far north as they were. Berwald did not have tracks to retrace back to Hippoforth’s original location, but as The Fair would have it, he did not have to go far to see where his rider had gone. Off in the distance, the sharp smell of something cold and clean cut into his nostrils and invaded his lungs, similar to the first frost of the winter. His face hardened into a grim frown as he urged Hippoforth on, aware that the smell was also agitating the pony. “Easy,” he coaxed him and slowed him down to a trot. He listened for the sound of them, though he prayed to the gods he would not hear anything. It was too soon for them to arrive—far too bright, still, for them to venture so close to the city. He must have ridden two kilometers out before he found the source of the smell, a bundle of rags and furs slowly inching westward, the familiar splash patterns of grays and whites making Berwald’s heart pound.

“Tino,” he breathed and snapped his reins once more. Hippoforth dutifully pressed on towards his master, his breaths growing hoarse and panicked. “Steady. It’s alright.”

The margrave heard him before he saw him, raising his head up with a cautious hope in his eyes. Parts of his tunic were torn, and there was a gash in his cheek. The distinct smell of gunpowder grew stronger when the count drew near. He broke into a smile when he saw who had come to meet him. “Berwald…! Oh thank gods…I was afraid…”

Berwald dropped off Hippoforth and swept him up in an embrace. He held him like nothing before. “Don’t need to be afraid. I’m here.” He would have liked to hold him longer, but there was something off about how he felt against him. His form was larger and misshapen, somehow. With his guard heightened, he released the margrave and looked over him. A quivering figure was hidden beneath Tino’s large cape, his large blue eyes unmistakably shining with fear.

Tino caught Berwald’s suspicions and craned his head to his backside. “This is a friend,” he cooed. “ _Shh shh shhh._ Everything’s going to be alright.” It was a boy, Berwald realized, when Tino urged him to show himself. He had mangled sandy blonde hair that had grown to his shoulders and a nervous tremor on his lips; even his bangs had fallen over his eyes. That was not the most outstanding thing about him, however, for even past his outgrown hair, Berwald could see a thick set of eyebrows furrowed into a helpless expression. They looked oddly familiar.


	27. His Wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukas and company arrive in Chottsym, but the answers he seeks may not come as easily as he hoped.

_Rain again._ Lukas felt a somber grossness from the cramped carriage. The summer draughts leaked a stuffy dampness through the velvet walls, and his hair clung to his skin like wet tendrils, especially on his left side, now that his hairpin had been stashed away. Had he known the way northward, he would have purchased a strong stallion to ride to Chottsym in a heartbeat.

To distract himself from the climate, he practiced small freezing spells in the cabin, much to Arthur’s annoyance. The king of Brysowgig was acclimated to the weather of his homeland, and he had a temper as short as the clear skies above Tabrini. “Do you really have to do that within the cabin? What if you misuse it and freeze the door shut?”

“Then I’ll melt it."

“Bloody… _ggurrmmph_.” Arthur tended to grumble and mumble. Lukas would have called him the Grumble King, had his oldest brother not been the only one to receive a title. What would the others have been called? The Pasture King? The Snide King?

“I find that smaller anima spells are harder to cast than those of sheer power. The focus needs to be contained in a tighter space. What about you, Your Majesty? Do you find any particular spells difficult?”

“Only the one where I need to keep your tongue held.” Arthur may have attempted a stone tongue hex during their ride, but his fortitude was apparently lacking in comparison to Lukas’.

 _Nothing could bring you to my levels of willpower,_ the Shadow thought, until he recalled Tim Maes and the spell of hearts. _I’ll need to ask you if you know something, Mathias._

When the capital city and its surrounding civilization had disappeared off into the green horizon, gone were the paved streets, murky canals, and smoke-filled skies, the scenery dissolved into farmland, hills, and sparse woods with roads of crushed dirt and littered stones. Lukas had seen enough of the sights to last him a lifetime, after the journey he had undertaken. He thought to fill in the time with some conversation. “Your ministries are able to operate efficiently even when there are no kings present?”

“Yes, we’ve been developing a system for some time,” said Arthur with a distant look. He was staring out at some sheep, stealing glances at Lukas’ direction every now and then. “They take care of the more common affairs that anyone learned in policies can address. The royal family concerns itself with bigger matters.”

“Bigger?” Lukas repeated with an amused raise of his thinner brow. “How so?”

“Things such as whether or not we want to continue trade or allegiances with the neighboring kingdoms. Whether we should keep a hold on our current colonies or sell them to someone else with interests,” Arthur explained. “Or we might decide to make lords and grant land, typical things a king is entitled to do. See? This way, the royal family has lots of time to devote to ourselves as well as to the people.”

“That’s because you’ve been biting more than you can chew these days,” Lukas alluded to the massive amounts of colonies and resources Tabrini had stripped from the former Altorien Empire. It seemed that being an island kingdom made the people greedier than most. He still thought having ministers in charge of the public seemed to give too much power to commonfolk, but then, it could have been because in comparison, Crodinia had a more manageable and smaller population than Tabrini. _I still don’t know why so many would choose to live in here and not the mainland._

“Please, with the four of us and Mum, I think we’re managing. I’ll bet you could manage yourselves quite well, given that there are five rulers and five provinces. You could dedicate a part of your day to enjoying yourself. Maybe spend time with your brother.”

“Well, that justification does have my interest piqued,” Lukas lied with a pleasant smile. “If it would allow me to spend more time with my loved ones, I could discuss it with Mathias when I return.”

When they ran out of politics and trivial conversations to exchange, the two rulers attempted to play parley. Lukas continued to win again and again until Arthur forfeited all further matches to future defeats. He wanted no more part in any games of war or attrition.

“How in gods’ names do you keep beating me?” he scowled in bitter immaturity. He played the part of the gentlemen only in light of commonfolk, it would have seemed.

“I’ve played against many players in the royal castle back in Crodinia. Mathias and I used to play quite a bit amongst ourselves. I’ve never lost a match.” _Well, there was_ one _time, but that one doesn’t count._

“The Dotribans host tournaments within their three kingdoms. Have you been to one?”

“I mustn’t have been invited,” Lukas supposed with a blithe shrug.

“His— _ugh—_ Awesomeness is said to be an exceptional player, himself. I would have thought he’d have acknowledged your skills.”

“He’s exceptional at most things,” Lukas was begrudged to admit, “but I tend to keep my merits to myself unless I can help it.” He stared at Arthur, studying his eyes and their emerald color, a richer shade of green than those the Maeses possessed. He also noticed the thickness of the king’s eyebrows and thought of a familiar individual. “You’ve been to your Altorienese colonies, Arthur, have you not?”

“Yes, a few times, actually. Why?”

“Did you notice any of the Altorienese having particularly thick eyebrows? Similar to yours, I mean.”

The king blinked and furrowed his black eyebrows. “How would I know? Do you judge every character you come across by their brow?”

“Suppose not,” replied Lukas, backing down from his suspicions. _Admittedly, that was a strange thing for me to bring up…_ “Something about your family’s trait is peculiar, was all. I wondered if it was even possible to curse someone’s entire lineage with a physical attribute—and if so, why couldn’t it be something beneficial?”

Arthur stiffened. “Are you implying that my eyebrows are not?”

“Are you implying that _I_ was implying that?”

“Yes—? Er, no. That would be rude of me.” The king sat up and straightened his posture, similar to how a rooster might puff its chest out. “But to answer your previous question…I don’t know. My family enjoys dabbling in curses that produce ill effects unto others, in order to give us the upper hand over them.”

“Subterfuge,” Lukas sneered. “How like you. And by ‘family,’ do you mean The Arcane, or the Kirklands?” The Arcane, like the other Nine Divine, was thought to be wholeheartedly neutral in its contributions to humanity. The gods, themselves, were not thought to have practiced malice, only those who had been bestowed their blessings and blood.

Thus, when Arthur wisely answered the question in a muffled tone with, “My family,” Lukas was not surprised. He chuckled to that. _Nine Divine, perhaps your lot were under the influence of Limsekr to have gotten this far._

There were three stops to be made on the five-day journey north. Arthur’s convoy had stopped at two already—the Hog’s Snout and the Ripple Inn. Both lodgings had proven dry and cool to the kingdom’s elements, the beds smelling of wool, dirt, and straw. After their departure from the Ripple Inn, Lukas had asked if there was an arcane spell that could change the odor of a room, but Arthur had not been able to procure one from the top of his head. “The workings of the odors would be better revolved around alchemy, if anything,” he presumed. “Smells are affected by the chemical interactions in your nose. They also help the body register taste, too, did you know that? It’s why when you catch a cold, you’re unable to taste anything.”

“I’ve never gotten a cold before.”

Arthur smirked. “Yes, right. How fortunate. Must be useful having Emil around, I suppose.” _He doesn’t know of Emil’s departure to Morstur,_ Lukas calmed himself. “How is he doing these days?” he asked.

“Fine. He keeps up with his studies and mostly stays out of trouble.”

“Mostly?” the king echoed with a chuckle. “He seems the sort that would have trouble find him before the other way around.”

“You might be right about that.”

The last stop before crossing into the northern kingdom border was at a hilltop inn by the name of Wind’s Peak _._ There was both wind and a very small peak, to Lukas’ observations, though the peak was no more than a raised lump over green, grassy knolls. Unlike the last two inns, this one was covered with mossy stones and a thatched roof; the roof was weighed down with rows of rocks to brush off the elements. Since leaving the capital city, Lukas had more enjoyed the pastoral landscapes than the stuffy city, but this place was perhaps the most natural-looking of them all.

While the coachmen unloaded their weapons and belongings, he took a walk over the hills and tried to see anything of note. He managed to see some short stone fences and grazing herds of sheep. There was a white-painted house far off in the distance, most likely occupied by the family tending the fields nearby. It felt familiar. Like Morstur, he thought, with its serene greenery and lazing sheep. He tried to breathe in the air, however, and found it gross and damp, resorting to fabricating an ice crystal out with his palm to cool away the droplets.

“You see something interesting out there, Lukas?” Arthur addressed him by first name. He had gotten used to doing that towards the end of their journey together. He strolled up to Lukas’ vantage point, though not at all regally, and rolled his ankles at least once trying to pull himself upward.

It took everything in Lukas’ body not to laugh. “…Nothing in particular,” he distantly replied and stared onward. “Can you tell me something, Arthur: why is it that they make the youngest sibling the ruler of Brysowgig and not Faltsbend or Dowsonnia?”

His Young Majesty furrowed his brow and tilted his head intently towards him. He was trying to read his thoughts; Lukas could tell by the way he glowered that he had found nothing. “Do they not teach world history in your northern kingdom?” he responded with a question of his own.

“They do, as a matter of fact—particularly a piece where we once had settlement rights to your lands, but I’m not asking about that. And I know the answer; I just wanted to hear your version of it.”

Arthur let out a deep sigh, fit for one who was made king too early. “They do that because it forces the older ones to look out for the youngest, and so the youngest can pick up responsibility. We’re supposed to harbor an equity of power and resources among the united kingdoms, so history goes, and so it has been—though I can’t say that’s the case with everyone else.” He made a face. Lukas knew what sort of expression that was, one of self-doubt and inferiority. Emil’s face had often been wrought with such. _Her Former Majesty relinquished her reign on the kingdoms too soon._

Not long after, Lukas retreated with Arthur’s company to Wind’s Peak for dinner. It was a classic affair of heavyset sausages, beans, bread, and a side of roasted roots that Lukas enjoyed the most. The Tabrinnish traditionally lacked strong seasonings that those of Palleci and Arbren were known to use, but his appetite had grown ravenous since this afternoon’s lunch. He took generous portions of beans and sausage, taking care to eat slower than his host—which proved difficult, as Arthur’s pace was not much faster than a slug. He would take an end of his sausage and stab it with a fork. Then, he would cut a clean piece of the end off and take that bite into his mouth. He would then wash it down with a sip of what was probably gin. Chew, swallow, drink, repeat. The rest of his caravanning party ate more casually, but Lukas would not allow Arthur to show him up or point out the supposed Crodinians’ mannerisms. It must have been nearing the twentieth hour of the day by the time he cleaned his plate. 

Before retiring, Arthur stayed with his men to hear them sing Tabrinnish folk songs. Lukas could not fully comprehend the lyrics, but some of the songs held melodies nostalgic to his heart. Arthur did not sing, though he appeared to have immersed himself in the atmosphere, his eyes closed and a coy smile on his face. Lukas headed off to bed shortly after, the Tabrinnish voices serving as a muffled lullaby as he shut his eyes. He did not use a dampening spell that night.

* * *

_“What…are you…?”_

_You sicken me. I will never…It calls to me now._

_“Don’t leave me. Please…Don’t leave me…”_

* * *

“Lukas, are you alright?” Arthur had the decency to ask when they were nearing the Chottsym border. “You look as though you have, erm—excuse me for saying this—shadows under your eyes.”

“All the better to see them,” he joked with a halfhearted smirk. He had dreamt of a land of fire and black blood underneath a lightless sky. He could still smell the smoke and iron now, though the air had cooled and dissipated of its southern mist. As the barren hills disappeared beneath groves and forests of pines, alders, aspens, and oaks, the fog collected on the branches and drifted upward like the hot breath of a cold morning. It smelled crisp and familiar, of a place not unlike home, yet Lukas could not shake the visions of his dreams so easily as the mist.

“The beds weren’t what they used to be,” Arthur blabbed on, referring to the inn. “My family likes to stop there because my great grandfather used to take everyone on picnics and hunting trips nearby. There are apple trees not too far from the Mathesons’ farm…Er, but I remember the beds being bigger and softer. Maybe we’re getting old.”

Lukas forced himself to laugh. “We all are.” He tried to carry conversation with the young king, but his mind had drifted elsewhere. _Fire, blood, darkness…_ He remembered Emil having such dreams. The poor boy had come crying into his chambers in the dead of night, his soft whimper waking him with a start every time. Sometimes he had heard the fits before his brother had awaken. He had painted vivid images of red lights, dark shapes, and a deep sense of dread. Lukas and various apothecaries had attempted to use sleeping draughts to help the young lord fall asleep, but as he bore The Everlasting, such spells and the most powerful medicines had proven ineffective.

“I was alone,” Emil had sniffled. “There was no one there, Lukas. I called for you, but you wouldn’t come…” Lukas had held him, then, promising that he would never leave him. He had always been there for him. He had been right there.

_“Don’t leave me…”_

He rubbed his temples. His head was pounding from the inside out, and his patience had worn thin from the pain. _That voice…_ He had heard it before; he was certain of it. It felt so familiar to him, but he could not pinpoint the source.

“Too much to drink last night?” Arthur noticed him rubbing his head. “I’ve a potion for that sort of thing.”

“Nothing like that, thank you,” Lukas declined. He cooled the tips of his fingers and applied them to his forehead. The chill gave him some relief until the pain subsided. He nearly thought of telling Arthur of his dreams, but he thought better of it. _He’ll think me mad_ , he thought. The last thing he needed now was a dent in his credibility.

The sun was nearing the western edge of the Talas Ocean by the time the caravan arrived at the main castle road. Arthur had stopped talking some time ago, having lost himself in his own thoughts. When they arrived at the cobbled path, however, he straightened his posture and exhaled heavily through his nose. “Home,” he wistfully sighed, though they both knew he had been raised in Brysowgig. In some ways, the royal castle was always a home to return to; Arthur just happened to have two of them. _A pity I cannot say the same about Bondevik Castle,_ lamented Lukas.

The Kirklands’ royal castle was a grand series of spires, towers, two baileys, and curtained walls all made of stone, clay, and solid magic. The walls were said to have been impenetrable, as the castle’s construction had always had a blood bearer of The Arcane present to aid in casting binding spells. Time had caused the walls to fade in color and moss to grow over the walls, amplifying its age, but from the bottom of the spiraled hill it was built on, Lukas could not see any weak points or collapsing architecture. It was a remarkable piece of art and an astounding demonstration of magic.

“Welcome to Castle Kirkland. Allistor’s going to be surprised you’re here,” Arthur thought aloud, having lost all semblance of wonderment for his family’s stronghold. “You didn’t tell him you were coming here, did you?”

“I thought that was your job,” Lukas teased a final time before the carriage pulled up through the first gateway, two layers of portcullises hovering above like the fangs of a great stone creature. The rest of the castle had been built like a fortress, from its material to its location. There was not even a town in the surrounding countryside, the nearest civilization being five kilometers behind them. _Well, no one ever said The Arcane was selfless._ Lukas could see mage knights positioned atop the walls and towers, and neat rows of red-coated foot soldiers were positioned all along the grounds. The innermost court was lined with fountains, groves of darkwood oaks, and ornately carved stone pillars.

“Announcing His Royal Highness Arthur Kirkland’s return!” someone shouted from outside the carriage.

“Let me go first…” Arthur strained to stand and let himself out. He took two steps down from the cabin and waited for Lukas to come out. The one who had presumably announced the young king’s return took a deep breath to announce Lukas Bondevik’s arrival when Arthur held a quick hand up to him. “Ah. Hold yourself on that one. I’ll introduce him, myself.” He turned to his companion, gave a shrug his way, and urged him to follow.

Lukas took in all of the sensations Castle Kirkland had to offer. He could smell burning wood and hear the ring of a hammer pounding away in the distance. Unicorn banners flowed through the fair summer breeze, their backgrounds a rich ocean blue. He could also hear the incantations of mage knights practicing spells, the wafting scents of magical smoke and fire not far away. The courtyard was decorated with all manners of roses, one of the Kirkland family’s signature flowers. Much like the Maes family with their tulips, there were several varieties, a scattering of pure whites, rich reds, brilliant yellows, stunning pinks, and dramatic purples.

“Like them?” Arthur noticed Lukas staring.

“They’re healthy. Do you use…?”

“Gods, no,” the king turned his nose up at the hint of using nurturing magic. “I happen to have quite the gardening skills. These, here, are grown by me.” He gestured to a separate row of rose bushes. “The others are technically Dylan’s, but since he doesn’t come here all that much, I’ve been taking care of them.”

“How kind of you,” smiled Lukas. He saw a hint of blush streak across Arthur’s face.

“I should show you to Allistor. If he’s being responsible, he’ll be in the Round Tower.” Arthur led Lukas through sets of large doors and comfortably cool hallways, no doubt being imbued with spells that regulated the temperature. Unlike the palace, the grounds were void of commonfolk. There were soldiers positioned about main hallways and grand doors; otherwise, a handful of servants were the only ones who made themselves known to Lukas’ attention. He saw some Altorienese employed in the Kirklands’ service, their dark hair and vacant eyes unmistakable. None had golden eyes, but Lukas peered into the hearts of the few he saw, nonetheless, and found nothing but hollow voids. _They wiped their memories…_

“Should be through this way,” His Majesty said as he stopped at a large darkwood oaken door. Like most of the doors in the castle, this one was fortified with iron bolts to hold the planks together, a sturdier build than the single thinner boards Crodinia used. Arthur let himself through first, taking care to excuse his interruptions, though his voice was drowned out by a squabble of men talking over one another. Lukas’ Tabrinnish was near useless when regarding the northern accents of Chottsym, but he tried to make sense of their words.

The room beyond looked to be a counseling room, with a large round table with tall chairs situated in the center. _This must be in the Round Tower,_ Lukas thought. Banners of the various lords’ lands hung like streamers from the ceiling, and the surrounding windows were stained and latticed with colored glass and finely woven metals. Allistor Kirkland was wearing a traditional Tabrinnish red royal sash and cape, complete with matching blue and white robes fit for a king of the old kingdom. He looked regal. Composed, even. All his life, Lukas had only seen him in battle garments and practical hunting gear. Here, at the far end of the table, speaking with his circle of counselors, he looked like a true king.

Arthur loudly cleared his throat, better signaling his arrival. All men stopped speaking and turned their heads to the door, seeing the king of Brysowgig and a stranger behind him. “Allistor—” Arthur began, but in a flurry of tossed parchment and chairs being knocked over, he did not have the chance to finish.

“Nine Divine, Lukas!” Allistor was a storm of blue and red when he charged towards the unsuspecting Shadow and threw his arms around him in a crushing embrace. Lukas could have sworn he heard something snap, and he prayed to The Everlasting that it was not permanent.

“Good to see you too, Allistor…” His voice was a whimper. “Should I call you Your Majesty here?”

The Ranger King laughed and released him. Lukas felt his ribs bend back into place. “Naw, ‘Allistor’s’ just fine.” He raised one of his signature thick eyebrows and studied his appearance. “Ya look different! Ain’tcha supposed t’ be wearin’ yer uh…?” He pointed to the side of Lukas’ head where his hairpin usually remained. “What, does this mean yer available now?”

Lukas graced His Majesty with a polite smile. “We are still together, last I checked. It’s a long story.” He stole a look at the council. “I’d tell you the tale, but it looks like we caught you in the middle of something.”

“No, no!” Allistor insisted, pushing him along. “Fer you, anything’s possible!”

 _Ah._ Lukas realized what he was trying to do. He allowed himself to be led away while Allistor talked on about his elation of his sudden visit. It was comforting knowing that he had willingly let him in, but his concerns constantly returned to how the king would react to his findings. “What’s the Shadow of Crodinia doin’ all the way out here, if ye don’t mind me askin’?”

“It depends on whether or not you’re patient enough for the full story.” Lukas had always known Allistor to be keener to action like Mathias, though he had seen him hold more attention during war meetings. Still, as the eldest king of his family’s kingdoms, he imagined the Ranger King to be more responsible than he looked and acted.

It took Allistor almost until they reached the ground floor to acknowledge that his younger brother was following behind him. Arthur might as well have been part of the castle décor. “So, Artie, this way of sayin’ thanks to yer big brother? Delivering a friend from the far side o’ the sea?”

“Shut it,” the youngest king mumbled.

Lukas piped in. “I must be amiss. Are you two currently on bad terms?”

“It’s nothing you need to be concerned with, Lukas,” Arthur said and added, "not that we're ever on _good_ terms."

Allistor ignored his brother’s resistance. “Remember I was called early on back from your party ‘round Emil’s birthday?”

“Yes, during the Red Summer.” It seemed so long ago. “You said your mother had something you needed to do. Is she well, by the way? Arthur’s told me she’s fine, but hearing it from two of her sons would put me more at ease.”

“Strong as a bull, sharp as a knife,” her eldest son laughed. “Afraid she likes to stay far away from us ‘royal’ folk now that the kingdoms are handed out. You should come to the country palace sometime. Our gardens she’s tending would make Palleci look like a chamber pot.”

“I’ll consider your invitation another time,” the Shadow smiled. “Unfortunately, this trip is strictly business.”

“Is it now? Shame. Aye, but as I was sayin’ Artie got himself in a bit o’ trouble out in sea. He was supposed to set voyage off to retrieve some shipments from the southern colonies.” He gave a smirk and placed a large hand over top his brother’s head and gave it a hardy ruffle. Arthur’s already straw-like hair became more tangled and messier than before; its appearance was not unlike a bird’s nest. “And then this little twerp had to go runnin’ into Arbrennish pirates. Had to sail all the way down to Limsekr’s Struggle and save his sorry arse.”

“Why’d you have to tell him that!” Arthur cried with a contorted expression. His cheeks were beet red. “I was trying so hard to hide that from him, and you had to go and blab it out like it was nothing!”

“It’s yer own damn fault I couldn’t stay in Crodinia longer, an’ yer own damn fault we lost _five_ ships o’ cargo.” Allistor released his hand and looked back to Lukas with a more apologetic expression. “But it looks like ye brought the party to me, so there’s a start. Though I’d say I’d be more partial to Mathias’ company, no slight against you.”

“None taken,” said Lukas. “I don’t talk much.”

Before he could allow himself to share anything with Chottsym’s king, Allistor proposed that they host a feast for his arrival. “Must be hungry after coming all the way here! What says ya to an early meal ‘fore hearin’ yer tale?” Lukas saw no reason to refuse, so he allowed His Majesty to make preparations.

The dining hall was a large and long room with tall stone arches and hanging wooden chandeliers, filled to the brim with everlasting candles that never melted. It was grander than the hall of Crodinia’s royal castle and more beautiful, Lukas had to admit. The glass, like the Round Tower, was enforced with lattice metal, and the halls were draped with deep blue decorations of unicorns and the occasional full banner of Tabrini, complete with a unicorn, dragon, stag, and lion. The tables and chairs were made of seasoned darkwood oak, giving the entire space a dreary color palette, but sitting in the audience of Allistor Kirkland with his loud voice and striking red hair, Lukas felt anything but cold vibes when seated next to him.

While the kitchen staff prepared an early dinner, he went on about the details of Arthur’s dilemma, fighting hordes of Arbrennish pirates, negotiating kidnapping terms and releases, and having to inventory and sort out their losses on the ships, men, and precious cargo. “Spices, silks, ivory…Fuckin’ Great Hither, Artie, how’s a kid like you mess up so bad?”

“What was I supposed to do? Curse them do death?”

“Very well might’ve done that, just not as fast as ye would’ve liked. Told ya ta study up on yer anima.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“I saved you, didn’ I?”

Arthur’s speech reduced to grumbles and muttering. He looked like a regressed child, though he was the same height as Lukas.

“Hmm,” Lukas hummed in amusement, “if I hadn’t known any better, this would prove that I’m the better mage. Pirates shouldn’t have given you any trouble, Abrennish, least of all.”

“That wasn’t all,” Arthur huffed. “These were….” His voice once again trailed off in frustrated grumbles. “Forget it. Fine, if you want to use this as a gauge, then I’ll be the gentleman and say that yes, Shadow, you are the better mage. But I’m still the better curser.”

“You curse, alright.”

Like Brysowgig, Chottsym cuisine featured heavy amounts of proteins from beans, sausages, smoked hams, and a curious local meat pudding called “haggis _._ ” Lukas liked it well enough. _If I can survive Morsturic food, I can survive anything._ There was also a smoked fish and potato chowder that he particularly enjoyed. He wished he could request a recipe from the cook, so that he might take it home with him and share it with Mathias. _Too bad according to my letters, I’m enjoying picnics in Eluvesh with the Maeses._

“Wish ye could’ve written thatchoo were comin’, Lukas,” Allistor said between bites of bread. “Could’ve hosted us a huuuge feast an’ invited the neighboring lords t’ come see ye. ‘Course, yer more the shy type, so…” He ate more ruggedly than his brother, who was still resorting to polite bites of his food, as was the way of Brysowgig. Lukas, however, felt more inclined to eat faster, so as to keep up with the Ranger King’s conversation.

“Were that I could, but I didn’t want to make my presence so publicly known. I traveled mostly alone for a reason.”

“What’s gotten ya so worked up that ye had t’ come all the way out here to see me fer?”

“Again, it’s a long story. It’s best discussed in a place of privacy—and I _mean_ privacy, Allistor.”

His hearing was as sharp as his eyes. “Artie already filled in on the mess?”

“Yes, we’ve had plenty of time to reflect on the way here. There are pieces of information missing, and we’d both hoped that something here might fill in the gaps.”

“Mm.” Allistor swallowed. “If it involves _that_ , I know a place we can go t’ talk. It’d be good fer me.”

After dinner and a pleasant dessert of cranachan, a Chottsym dessert of cream, oats, spirits, and raspberries, the Allistor led Lukas outside of the main castle and along the walls, where the familiar strong smells of damp hay and manure permeated the air. The horses in Chottsym were majestically large. The steeds kept in the royal castle were of fabulous colors and breeds called Scydlebacks, after the county of Scydle, known for their unparalleled size, stamina, and endurance. Arthur had spoken to some length of his family’s horses during their journey. They commonly had lovely long white stockings that almost fell over their hooves and dark velvety coats. The same breed had taken them across the Tabrinnish countryside, but the ones housed at the castle were of a noticeably larger variety.

In contrast, not far off was a row of pens where smaller ponies were kept. Heltsland ponies, Lukas recognized. They had shorter legs than Morstur ponies but were said to be just as useful for labor and riding, if not as adequately as their larger relatives. Their thick cinnamon-colored fuzzy coats gave them an innocent appearance, and Lukas thought to himself that Emil would have enjoyed riding one as a child.

“Ever ridden a Scydleback before?” Allistor asked, already preparing a saddle atop one of them. He was the same height as Mathias, but even this mount’s back reached as high as his eyes.

“No, but they’re beautiful horses,” he said and meant. He imagined the Ranger King must have trained to ride and hunt on these horses, hence why he had been so adept at horseback archery during the war.

“I’ll give ya this one, then.” Allistor gave him a gentle-natured mare with a sleek black coat that shined with a dark brownish undertone. It reminded Lukas of the licorice wheels Emil enjoyed snacking on. Since Allistor had not told him the mare’s name, Lukas gave his temporary mount the name of “Licorice.”

“You two go on ahead,” Arthur backed away, while he was watching the two prepare for a ride. “I already heard everything Lukas had to say, and I have business to take care of. If you need me, I’ll be in the gardens.”

“Sure ya don’t want to come? We’re going ta see the ring. Been a while since y’ave been there last.”

Arthur bristled and hugged his waist. “I’m fine. I don’t feel like going there right now.”

Allistor rolled his eyes. “If that’s what you wish, Yer Majesty.” Lukas would not have been surprised if he suddenly stuck his tongue out at him. He readied his reins and clicked his tongue for his horse to start a pace. “C’mon, Lukas, I’ll take ya to the ring.”

“Yes, so what exactly _is_ this ring?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

See he would. As they mounted and rode beyond the castle walls, the hills dipped into an expansive teal-green lake surrounded by pines and oaks. Allistor pointed out to an opening on the other side. Lukas could faintly make out the blurry image of a circle of stones off in the horizon. They departed immediately after, Licorice’s long broad legs making it easy to navigate through the thickets. The path to their destination was conveniently cleared; where low-hanging branches and bramble should have snagged at their hair and capes, there, instead, lay a comfortable tunnel and thin trodden path of disturbed detritus and long-fallen trees.

“Dad took me through these woods b’fore Artie was born.” Allistor’s voice was heavy with nostalgia. “When they turn ten, firstborns are supposed to survive a week in the darkwood past the lake and bring back proof of a kill. Mine happened to be a stag.”

“That's not unsurprising to me. Do you normally catch your game in this darkwood?”

“Special occasions only. The deer here are sacred, thought to be gifts from The Fair. We take no more than we need. Most o’ the meat we ‘ad today came from local farms.”

“Pity. I might’ve like to join you on a hunt through these woods. Another time, perhaps.”

Allistor grinned. “Should bring Mathias next time. So—” He looked behind him, heard nothing, and saw nothing. “—what’s the Shadow of the northern kingdom doin’ all the way down here past the Sea o’ Ra’s?”

Lukas took a deep breath. “I’ll be blunt as I was with your brother: there is a group kidnapping Altorienese folk with golden eyes and using them for blood experiments.” Lukas studied Allistor’s eyes and attempted to peer into his heart. There were walls upon walls of mental defenses, not unexpected for the oldest king of Tabrini. But between the walls were cracks. He wormed his way through narrow openings and searched for darkness, until he came across waves of emotions and memories: the crying of a baby, the whistling of an arrow let loose, the smell of gunpowder and smoke, the thrumming of hoofbeats. Lukas tore his gaze away and ducked just in time before he struck a branch. Being so high off the ground, he had to remember that his head was also positioned higher.

“Tryin’a peek into my heart?” Allistor smirked, Lukas’ nerves firing through his spine. He looked more amused than defensive. 

“I needed to know if you were hiding something,” he spoke with honesty. Unlike the citizens of Brysowgig, those of Chottsym preferred hearing and speaking the truth. “It wasn’t your family, either…My apologies.”

“Means ya trust me _now?_ So yer sayin’ ya didn’t trust me before? You wound me.”

Lukas pressed his lips together. “There were heavy implications that the mastermind had Arcane blood. Tim and I—”

“Tim?” Allistor cut him off. “Ya got the Tulip King involved in all this?”

“He was the one who requested I go to Tyse.”

“And Tyse!” the king barked a laugh. “Venturous be damned, y’ave got a whole adventure wrapped around yer ‘vestigation, Shadow! Right, I’ll bite then: what’s yer accusations against us?”

“You make me out to be a villain. I’ll start from the beginning: my brother’s pet was nearly taken by a group of low-level Crodinian men. After rescuing him, we found out Altorienese with golden eyes were being kidnapped during the Red Summer. It only made sense, given that there were more nobles with pets attending. The men responsible for the kidnappings were hired by someone who came out of Tyse. Mathias sent a letter to Tim asking him if he knew anything about similar kidnappings taking place in his capital. Some weeks ago, Tim sent us a return letter telling us to come to Tyse, nothing else.”

“Nothing else, ya say? An’ ye believed him? What if it was a trap?”

“Please, you haven’t seen enough of my abilities from the war?”

“Mm, can’t say I haven’t. Alright, so that’s why ya went to Tyse?”

“I needed to see this for myself. There’s something that’s been bothering me, and I want to get some closure.”

“You an’ me both.”

Lukas’ voice grew low, though they could hear nothing else absent of their voices and the hoofbeats of their mounts. “Tim found a place where they had been keeping the Altorienese. They were moved to Stamper after kidnapping someone with a higher profile than the typical war prisoners and native nobodies. We went there together, so I could use the spell of ascension on them.”

“Limsekr’s arse, Lukas,” Allistor gritted his teeth. “That couldn’t have been good fer ya.”

“It wasn’t. Can you imagine? But in my readings, I discovered that their limbs were being cut off and their blood collected. None of them could transform into fel’n even though they had family who could. And the ones who were responsible for their cruel deaths…their magical abilities were unmistakably powerful, and they spoke Tabrinnish.” He continued on, describing the memories of those he had read with the spell of ascension. “It was claimed at my court that the kidnappings had even gone as far as Tabrini.

“Allistor, the druids were capable of using wiping spells, muting hexes, green fire…Tim and I even suspected that they were also using some form of teleportation magic to transport themselves and their…organic inventory to escape us.” He turned his head to Allistor who had fallen into an unsettling silence. His face was that of stone, not unlike Tim’s when he had disclosed his initial findings. “What say you to all that, Allistor? Doesn’t it sound like something those of Arcane blessings or blood would be capable of?” He had hoped that the king would have something witty to say, but he remained silent for the remainder of the trip. Lukas had the consideration not to peer into his heart again.

The stones Allistor took them to were lined in a large ring of grass, weeds, and wildflowers. Each one was almost as tall as two men and as wide as one, carved in rough blocks and erected straight and grand, almost as if positioned like a gaping maw of stone teeth. Buttercups and daisies littered the grounds, as well as stray crocuses of majestic purples and dainty creams. There was a stillness to this place, as if the wind had died and the world had gone quiet. Even the fog that rolled out from the lake felt eerily frozen in place.

“Here we are,” Allistor finally spoke and dismounted. He coaxed his Scydleback into staying put. Lukas followed, and they walked into the center of the ring. There was a damp smell of moss and wet grass in the air. “Anything aboot this place feel familiar at all?”

Lukas studied his surroundings. The sights, sounds, and smells were nothing he had ever experienced before, let along ever being in a ring of stones, but he would be lying if he said that it felt unfamiliar. It was as if he had been here before, be it in a dream or a distant memory. “I…I’ve never been here, you’d know that. But there is something that pulls me to this place.”

The Ranger King tugged a smile at his lips. “Y’ave never been to yers? Would’ve thought they’d keep it close by.” He tapped a foot to the ground. “This is the resting place of The Arcane.”

“Here?” That startled Lukas. He would have never thought they would have buried one of The Nine Divine out in the open, but then, he did not know the true natures of the gods in their final days. _That’d explain the stillness, at least._

“Aye, I come here t’ get things outta my system. The Arcane works funny. Even beyond, it offers us guidance o’ sorts. ‘Course, normal folk don’t see this as a grave or one of a god, if you know what I mean. Bit odd, the air here, int it?”

“I was hoping you had an explanation for that.”

Allistor chuckled. “Don’t know quite so much, ma-self.” His smiling expression hardened. “Butcha know, what you were tellin’ me aboot the blood and the golden eyes got me thinkin’ o’ somethin’ I remember.” He folded his legs and sat down on the wet grass. He offered a seat next to him. “Here, sit.”

Lukas stared, unmoving. “It won’t be seen as disrespectful if I sit on the grave of your ancestor, a god at that?”

“Nah, Arcane’s buried and gone,” Allistor smirked. “Not like it’ll come rising outta the ground and drag ya down to Hither. No, if yer anything like me, you’ll hear things, sometimes see ‘em. Don’t imagine it has to do with Arcane blood, since others’ve come around this place and felt things. Who knows? Maybe two different blood bearers’ll make something unique happen.”

With Allistor offering and his interest piqued, Lukas knelt beside him and followed his example. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift like the fog. He felt nothing at first, save for the prickling of droplets on his skin and the sensation of his hair clinging to his skin. He listened for any sign of life, the rustling of the grass, a call of a bird, the sudden breath of the king next to him. But all was still.

He tried to think of what he wanted to know, but his mind dissolved into a clean pool, like bubbles in the water, snow in the sun, a sweet on his tongue. Every time he tried to focus on one object or instance, it was as though an unseen force wiped the thought away, leaving him to aimlessly wander in the depths of his mind. Soon, he began to lose himself. He forgot the weight of his body, the beating of his heart, the rhythm of his breath. He lost the sensation of darkness and came to an open clearing of white nothingness. It flickered on and off until the white color became clearer and brighter.

Then, he felt himself breathing—only, it was not his own breath or his own body. This one’s breathing was raspy and short, as though he was struggling to breathe through a thick cloth. The air was cold and crisp, nothing like the muggy stickiness of the Tabrinnish summer. A voice escaped his throat, the dry hoarseness of it filled with a festered hatred. 

_“Liar…Liar liar liar…!”_

He could feel his chest convulse with a hidden pain, an unfamiliar warmth, and a welcoming thought. The white light melded into a warm inviting glow. He thought it was the sun at first, as a stunning golden sphere appeared before him. However, he felt something stir within his heart. He knew the one in the light, its radiance captivating, irresistible. It took every fiber of him not to lash out.

_“How could you…? How could you?!”_

Betrayal. Confusion. Anguish. The well of emotions flooded him from the inside out, and his lungs fought to breathe. The voice within him screamed and hissed in fiery dry spats, his rage brimming to erupt.

And then, he heard another voice, soft and timid. He was being called. He had to go to it. It was crying out. He was needed. Loved. He gazed upon the light a final time before his thoughts started to scatter once more. This could not matter. He had to trust in them. He had to have faith as they did with him. After all, through the harshest and cruelest of times, there would come forth a new succession. It was he who had resolved to that principle.

 _I must go. It calls to me now._

Yes, he thought. He needed to go…go…go…The thought became a whisper that echoed on and on to infinity and eternity, spinning around his head like a slow whirlwind that never stopped, a ringing instance that pressed him on, even as his bones turned brittle and his heart gave out, he knew he was needed.

_Go._

Lukas’ eyes stung with a thin layer of tears when he came to. His nose was stuffed, and his heart ached like nothing before, not even when he had bid Emil farewell. How was that possible? He looked at his surroundings and saw stones towering above him, the moss around the surfaces as they were before, the same fog enveloping them in a still drift, frozen as though in time. Allistor was calmly seated, his body as still and relaxed as could be. Lukas had never seen it before, but he was sure this was the closest he had ever been to seeing the Ranger King sleeping.

Suddenly, his emerald eyes shot open, and he moved them over to Lukas’ direction. There was a placid look on his face, nothing that appeared to behold the same heartbreak or anger that Lukas had felt. “Hear anything in here, Shadow?”

“Nothing so much that made sense,” he replied with a forlorn look. Had that all been a dream, or was The Arcane trying to tell him something from beyond the grave? “What was that? Those thoughts…this place…I’ve never…”

Allistor shrugged. “Never experienced somethin’ like that, ya mean? Don’t imagine you enjoy sitting atop the grave of the god that’s given you so much trouble.” He was right about that. Lukas had only heard of The Ruined’s resting place being holed somewhere deep within a dark cave far away. Not once had he thought to search for it, let alone think to speak to his ancestor beyond its expended life. The very thought made a sick feeling squeeze into his gut. “So,” Allistor spoke up, “learn anything interesting?”

Lukas pressed his lips together and rubbed his forehead. His headache had come back. He wondered if the Kirklands would be so kind as to offer him some pain relief medicine when they returned to the castle. “I remember me—but it wasn’t me—accusing someone of lying. I remember being angry at a light. And…there was someone I needed to go to. I had to go to that someone no matter what happened.” He tried to search his memories for anything else of significance, and when he found nothing more, he fell into a silent stupor.

Allistor rubbed his chin and also sat in silence for a time. “Been doin’ this a while, since Dad passed away. Ye get to learn to read the thoughts, but every now and then, I also see a light. I get bad vibes from it every time I see it. It’s always the same memory.” He stared at Lukas. “What color was your light?”

“…Gold…”

“Aye, same. And that was it? Jus’ some odd feelin’s and nothing else?”

Lukas raised an eyebrow. “What else was there supposed to be?”

“No images, meaningful words, somethin’ tangible?”

Lukas searched his head and found nothing, or if there was anything of use, then it had already faded from memory. He was not even sure what he had experienced was a dream or a hallucination. Maybe a bit of both.

From his silence, Allistor gleaned that that had been all. “Well, the gold’s plenty good enough fer me. Gets me thinkin’ we share the same sentiments about that...”

“About what?”

“Not a what—a _who._ Y’know, hearin’ ye tell me ‘bout blood drawing and limbs got me thinkin’ about a story from my family’s records—past what I’ve seen sitting here.”

Lukas narrowed his eyes. “Arthur told me the same thing—something about these things happening before. He said there might be a clue in your family's library.”

“Aye.” Allistor took a deep breath. There was a look of hesitation on his face, his thick brow buried into a scowl close to his emerald eyes. “Ya came all the way here. That’s one thing. Now it’s my turn to ask if I can trust you, Lukas.”

He blinked. “Will simply saying that you can be enough to satisfy you?”

The Ranger King had a flat look about him. “I’m not daft enough to use the spell of hearts on you. If I go poking in there, I’ll come out madder than an earless hare.” He fiddled with a stray lock of red hair. While his bangs only grew past his eyes, they flowed loosely over his face like hanging firevines. “Tell ya what—you must’ve owed Tim fer the information he gave ye. Tightarse like him never hands things out fer free.”

Lukas let out a heavy sigh. So this was what this was about. “I offered for Crodinia to buy steel, medicines, and crop seeds from Belethren for a decade. Fourteen years for ferroak lumber.”

Allistor hissed through his teeth. “Fuckin’ Bountiful, ya gave him complete control o’ those?”

“We have something of a…discount in place, being that Mathias is actually on good terms with Tim. I wouldn’t have offered those had I not believed he would uphold fair prices.”

The king laughed and swept back his bangs. “I’m not gonna be fair, I’ll tell ya that fer free. Ready to hear my price?”

“Spit it out.”

“Ha! Tha’s why I love ya, Lukas—always cut straight to the point. Then, I’m askin’ fer double what you offered Tim in alchenol, gemstones, and warming ore exports, and give us seventy percent o’ fishin’ rights up to the Blizzarding Seas through the Sea o’ Ra’s.”

Lukas physically winced. That was asking for far too much. Staven relied on fishing to deliver healthy proteins and oils to the people eastward. The warming ore was a precious commodity for an environment as cold as Crodinia in the wintertime, and alchenol was on the cusp of becoming one of the leading energy sources for those without access to magic. If Crodinia was to export its resources to Tabrini, they would be squeezed dry before half the decade would be out. “You ask for a lot, Allistor. To even match the strict export periods on ore would drive Vesnïn and Höthson to ruin.”

“Good, then,” he responded without any semblance of sympathy. “From destruction comes creation, isn’t that what yer family likes ta say? Could be that I’m helping ya.”

“Hardly. Will you at least let me present some alternatives?”

“I think it’s a ‘fair’ trade as it is.”

“Look,” Lukas held his hand up, “I didn’t come all this way and spend all of this time to be barred by some ludicrous trade deals. I _will_ see that library whether you try to stop me or not.”

Allistor’s eyes flashed with a bright green fire. “That a threat?”

“It’s a challenge.” He knew the consequences of implying otherwise. Allistor Kirkland was not a businessman as Tim was. He was a king of expectant delivery and honor, born and raised in Chottsym. He would have to play by his rules here if he wanted any chance of lowering the price. “Tell you what—you’re a man of certain reputations in battle, are you not? Then, I propose a duel. One blood bearer against another. If I win, I’ll permit half of your offer, meaning the same rights and time frames for trades as what I offered Tim. If _you_ win, I’ll grant you your trade rights to your desired exports _plus_ no tariffs on shipping passages for that period of time.” He felt his heart sink even saying that. It was a great amount to risk. Even Mathias would have doubled over at hearing those terms.

All the same, it got the Ranger King’s attention. “Well, gotta say, no tariffs _would_ be sweet. An’ I get something no matter what.” Then he burst out laughing. “But y’ave gotteh think I’m barking mad if ya think I’m goin’ up against the Shadow. That’s outright suicide, an’ I aim to ‘ave a nice long life before I retire my crown.”

“It’s going to be a non-lethal fight, of course. I’ll not use dark ice or weapons. You can use whatever you want, barring curses.”

“Barring curses,” Allistor mockingly echoed. “You think I’d stoop so low?”

“I wouldn’t dare imply anything of the sort, but the idea of being subjected to an Arcane curse terrifies me.” 

“Ha! You’re gonna lose this duel, Shadow.”

_If it gives me a chance to prevail, then I’ll have to take it._

They returned to their horses and rode in return back to Castle Kirkland. Lukas was glad to leave the ringed grave behind. He did not want to think about what he had seen and heard among the stones. As soon as they had stepped outside of the circle, he could hear birds singing and the wind rustling through the leaves. He never wanted to go back there again.

Allistor verbally painted an image of their battle arena while they rode. “We can use the archery grounds. It’s wide an’ flat fer practice. Can’t hold the duel too close to the darkwood... Maybe I should ask Artie to watch.”

“Please don’t make a spectacle out of this,” Lukas implored. “Someone might get suspicious of your abilities.” Everyone knew Allistor was a capable archer, but few knew of his innate abilities ingrained in his blood. Though he may not have trained to be a battle mage like his brothers, he had proven his abilities through and through during the Sunset War.

“Little Artie can be the judge, ‘en. Might inspire ‘im to take his anima magic seriously.”

As he had claimed he would be, Arthur was tending to the castle gardens. He was squatting near a rose bush when his brother pressed a heavy hand and leaned his weight full onto his head. “Gah! Cut that out!” He pushed Allistor’s hand way and stood to see Lukas standing next to him. “Are you done? Did you find out everything you need to?”

“Not yet,” said Lukas. “We would like you to be our witness and judge.”

Arthur’s eyes turned wide and confused. “For what?”

“Me an’ the Shadow are gonna have ourselves a duel. We get a good prize if we win, little brother.” Allistor was grinning, an expression that obviously put the young king on edge.

“Bloody Hither, you two, you’ll kill each other. What does this have to do with the Altorienese?”

“In your brother’s good graces, I will hopefully be finding out,” Lukas told him with vague notions. “We’ve decided to use the archery grounds, wherever those are.”

Arthur let out a sigh and ran his hand through his messy hair. It had still not recovered from Allistor’s previous attack. “I don’t know what this whole thing’s about, but if you can’t be moved…I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Don’t be so glum,” his brother smiled a cheery way. “You could learn something from this.”

After informing his counsel of his whereabouts, Allistor, Arthur, and Lukas set off for the archery grounds. It was not unlike the Green Maw when it had been prepared for the archery tourney during the Red Summer. The grounds were marked by tall flags flowing from long steel poles, hoisting white unicorns pointing their horns towards the setting sun. There were targets made of wood and straw positioned a good distance away, and flimsy buckets of snapped string, cracked bows, and quivers of dulled arrows dotted the vacant lot. Lukas took in a deep breath as the wind blew through his hair, and he smelled crisp grass and mossy dew. It lacked the cold bite that the _dracay_ carried back home. He wished he were there now. _After this, Mathias. When I take care of a few more things, I’ll return home._

Allistor had discarded his regal garments and now donned something more familiar to Lukas’ eyes. He was decorated head to toe in fitted blue-dyed wool and light leather protections. Over his shoulders flowed an exchanged navy cape that made his red hair stand out like a flame upon an ocean. Blue suited him better, Lukas thought, though he was also partial to the color, himself. He had seen Allistor wear an outfit not unlike it when guarding the rear in the war, and it made Lukas wish he had packed better clothes for this journey. _I suppose I didn’t factor in fighting the Ranger King when I set off for Tyse._ He thought that would have been the end of Allistor’s new gear until he saw the bow that flashed behind his back.

_Oh gods…_

The bow shone with a peculiar emerald green and shimmering silver, its magnificent craftsmanship further accented by its material. Windcutter’s base was made of flexible azielan steel that could withstand the magic-induced arrows Allistor used. Lukas had rarely seen it be fired, but he distinctly remembered its arrow had once saved Mathias’ life in the Battle of the Dusk Skirt. There were seven arrows in Allistor’s quiver now. “You look dashing, Your Majesty,” he told him in a monotonous droll to mask his concern. “I look like a black puddle in your radiance.”

“ _Pshaw_ , save the compliments ‘til after I kick yer shit in, Shadow.” He tilted his head to the side. “Ye gonna be able to see with yer locks like that? Sure ye don’ wanna fix yer clip back in place?”

 _If I lose it here, I’ll never forgive myself._ “I’m sure.”

“Suit yerself.” He pointed out to the straw targets. “Need ya t’ go three quarters down to the end, there. The poles mark the halfway point. Artie’ll start us off. Since I’m hostin’, I get ta make the rules.”

Lukas thought as much. “Fine.”

“No dark ice, no curses, no hexes—and no killin’, gods be good. Don’t know what’d I tell Mathias if I accidentally killed his husband.” Lukas rolled his eyes. “Winner needs three sure strikes on his opponent.”

“Easy enough.” Lukas looked around to see if there was some sort of terrain he could take cover in. The land was flat, barren, and somewhat slippery. He would have to mold the grounds to his functions. “Not that this is a slight against you, but how will I know your arrows won’t accidentally pierce my skull?”

“Not to worry, I’m usin’ dummy arrows m’self,” the Ranger King chuckled, tapping the dull end of an arrowhead. “And I never miss; you know that. Right then, ya ready?”

“Ready as rain.” Lukas set off for the other end of the archery grounds. When he arrived, the sun was steadily creeping behind the mountains—on Allistor’s side. _Bastard. Thinking he can use the light to his advantage. Did he know I’d try to use my shadow?_ He supposed he had brought this upon himself. Taking a few steady breaths, he waited for Arthur to clamber up the bleachers behind the poles.

“Don’t hit me, got it?” he cried before raising his arm up. “I, Arthur Kirkland, will oversee the duel between Allistor Kirkland and Lukas Bondevik. Arms free!” He waited until he was certain that Allistor and Lukas did not have their weapons brandished. “On start…! Set…and… _START!”_

As soon as Arthur’s hand came down, Lukas saw a brilliant green flash of light from the other end of the grounds. Before he had time to blink, something screamed in his ear. He felt a cold stinging sensation, followed by something warm and hot oozing down his cheek. He immediately pulled up a force field and heard a sharp ring as something bounced off his magical wall and went sailing into the air. There was blood running along the side of his face.

“Woo! That’s already one!” Allistor whooped. He had Windcutter nocked again and ready to fire. Lukas held his breath. It had happened so fast. He had already fired two arrows before he had the time to launch an offensive. _Five more arrows._ He ducked when he saw a sharp crescent of wind sail into his direction. The force of it zoomed over his head and cut the air like a knife. He could hear the wind scream.

“Wind-fucking-cutter, indeed.” He conjured a sheet of anima ice to conceal his view and veered to the side, building up a wall in front of him, that he might get closer. A rip of grass and leaves shrieked as more wind sailed at him, rattling the frozen walls until they groaned. _Fuck._ He pressed his hands into the ground and recited a spell. The earth began to shake, and soon, pillars of water and earth spewed forth from bursting cracks, sending mud and showers exploding like craters over the arena.

With Allistor unable to see his whereabouts, Lukas dashed around his ice and skirted towards his direction, taking care to listen for the sound of wind. The shower of water was deafening, however, and he heard the piercing sound too late—almost. Gasping, Lukas fell forward as another arrow shot out and blew past his head. He summoned another forcefield and reinforced that with ice. The tops shattered immediately after erecting them, toppling over into Lukas’ direction. When he ducked away, he heard the spurting water soften and crackle. The air grew cold around him, and soon after, the entire ground became a wasteland of ice and mud. Then, in a sudden blast, the frozen pillars and earth erupted in waves of broken chunks and icy shrapnel. It took Lukas all he had to put up another force field and withhold himself from using dark ice.

“Yer not the only one who knows how t’ use frost magic!” Allistor’s voice cut through the chaos. “Artie, did I get ‘im?!”

“No!” Lukas heard yelling from a safer distance.

More whistling. Louder cracks. In a barrage of attacks, ice and dirt flew in all directions without any graceful semblance of accuracy. There was no need. All the Ranger King needed to do was hit Lukas two more times. It did not matter how hard or where. _Then the same can be said for me._ He summoned a wall of ice and earth beneath him so thick that not even Allistor could have hoped to shatter it in one go. _Higher…Higher!_ The flag poles were below him now. He could not see anyone from up high. The lake behind the castle looked like a molten glowing pool of fire in the setting sun. Squinting, Lukas darted forward, hearing the struggling chips of Allistor’s magic trying to cut away at the ice.

When he got to the end, he quickly formed another wall. _Behind! It has to be behind him!_ He barely made out Allistor’s fiery red hair before the icy walls formed a towering shadow over the king. Then…! “Got you!” The shadows twisted and writhed beneath Allistor’s feet and reached upward. Tiny black tendrils with greedy claws sprung from the ground and wrapped around his ankles, waist, wrists, and neck. Allistor did not scream, but he began to wildly flail to break free. In his struggles, he failed to see Lukas fire a shower of ice crystals down onto him, striking him twice—once in the arm, another in the leg.

“Fuck!” Allistor yelled. He managed to pull one of his arms free and whipped the shadowy tendrils away with his bow. Against azielan steel, the black claws fell away, and when both hands were free, he shouted an illumination spell to blot out the shadows. Lukas had to squint to make out what was happening, but it mattered not. Before he could focus on anything, something struck him hard in the shoulder and sank into the muscle, knocking him backwards just as three more arrows flew into the air. Teeth clenched, he summoned a force field and watched projectiles bounce off and clatter away like angry green flies.

“Two fer me, two fer you!” Allistor shouted below. “You're a pest, Shadow, ya know that?”

“What a coincidence. I was about to tell you the same thing.” He lifted his arm to use a spell, but a hot flash of pain shot up his shoulder and into his neck. He buckled to his knees and let out a flying curse. _Damn you, Allistor!_ He ripped the arrow from his shoulder, a sopping wet gash pouring from the wound, despite the arrowhead being dull. _Dummy arrows, my ass._ There may have been a numbing spell embedded into the arrow, as well. _Two…four…_ Allistor only had one arrow left. His illumination spell was dying. Now was the time to act. _He’s still surrounded by the wall._ He summoned a disk of ice that covered the top of the walls that trapped Allistor inside. Then, he let it fall down and down, that it might squash him like a gnat.

“Allistor!” Arthur screamed.

Lukas had planned on stopping its descent once it struck the top of Allistor’s head, but all he could hear was the sound of something groaning and creaking with pressure. Lukas peered down the shaft he had made. The disk was not falling. He could hear the hissing of air spewing from thin crevices. _You idiot! You’ll suffocate…!_

The wall of ice exploded from the side, and an arrow shot out past the great expanse and out of sight. Allistor collapsed onto the ground just as the disk came crashing down, leaving a cloud of dust and icy powder in the impact. He coughed and struggled to stand, his arm and leg still injured from the ice.

Lukas walked to the edge. “You’re out of arrows, Your Majesty.” He stopped when he saw a smirk.

“Jus’ because I’m outta arrows don’t mean I lost. I don’ need ta kill ya; I jus’ gotta hitchya is all.” He staggered to his feet and drew back the string of the arrowless Windcutter.

From above, Lukas heard the shrill hum of wind forming itself into a shape. _He’s concentrating the wind…!_ He jumped right before the edge shattered into a hundred pieces. His body fell forward, and he cast a slope of ice that took him falling down in a curve until he slid safely to the ground. He staggered to his feet and fumbled forward. The pain in his shoulder burned in a fiery pulse. So this was what it was like to be on the receiving end of a blood bearer’s anima magic.

“ _Tch_ ,” Allistor clicked his tongue and brought himself to his feet. He was clutching onto Windcutter with his fingers poised at the ready. One wrong move, and Lukas would feel another one of those wind-made arrows. “You're embarrassin' me in front o’ Artie. Ya know how hard it is to miss on purpose?”

“I wouldn’t, Ranger King,” Lukas coughed a laugh. He wanted to cling to his shoulder, but that would give away his injury. In desperation, he struggled and stood to face him. _He never misses. Even when a target is moving. I believe I know what it is now._

Windcutter’s bow string was taut. Lukas narrowed his eyes and gripped the broken arrow he had pulled from his shoulder. _Fired four at once, but pure wind takes longer to collect. I need to focus._ He planted his foot into the ground and braced himself. His spell was on the tip of his tongue. As soon as he saw an opening, he needed to move.

Allistor was just as poised for the attack. His finger was steady but firm around his bow string, his emerald eyes sharp with a scarlet fire from the sun. Lukas held his breath. Time froze, as though they were back on the hill in the ring of stones. The wall of ice behind them groaned and cracked, dripping water down its sides like tears. Lukas could feel the heat of the sun behind his back, however far it was. He watched his shadow grow along the wall of ice until—

 _Now!_ He ducked below Allistor’s raised arm, ignited his arrow, and threw it as far as he could. The wind from the Ranger King’s bow sailed straight for the arrow and struck it in a brilliant shower of sparks and flames. Allistor managed to spit a curse before he fired another arrow of wind, only this one exploded gloriously into his face, as a flaming handful of dirt flew for his head. Lukas darted forward and kicked him from under his ankles. Seeing Allistor down, he sank his hands into the ground. He hissed a spell of shadows and watched as his growing shadow loomed over him and took hold of his limbs. _You’re mine._ His heart pounding, the heat of battle firing his blood to a boil, he lunged for Allistor as soon as he fell to the earth, a swarm of black tendrils crawling over him. The Ranger King grunted as he lost control of his legs and arm, but the arm that was free—Lukas felt the wind rise.

"Not happening!" He let loose a long shard of ice and fired it as hard as he could, the wind ripping through his magic javelin until it nearly shattered from friction. Lukas froze. Allistor was still. Arthur screamed and ran for them, though his words did not reach their ears until he was upon them. “Allistor! Allistor, are you—?” Arthur gasped. His brother’s upper left had a thin trail of blood oozing from a long blade of ice. It had grazed him. No bones were broken, no major damage done. When all had realized this, they breathed a sigh of relief.

The Ranger King snapped to his senses and knocked the ice away with a quick punch. He sat himself up and looked at his arm, at his brother, and then at the wall of ice behind them. Then, he burst into a laughter that lasted well until he was out of breath. “Rules are rules, Shadow. I lost; you won.” He grunted when he rose to his feet, stretching his limp shoulder and rolling his neck. His breath was still short. “Fuck, if I didn’t give ye that arrow, I woulda hadja.”

“Quite so,” Lukas exhaled. “You were a better match than I thought. I’ve never really seen your fighting strategy, since you were always in the back lines…”

“Ey, now, I’m supposed to be the Hero Archer o’ Tabrini!” Allistor jokingly grinned. “Don’t let my li’l brother know I was slackin’ off!”

Arthur released his ever-familiar sigh. “Honestly, you two, we should get you to the infirmary.”

“Look at you, bein’ all responsible,” Allistor slapped his brother hard on the back, sending him stumbling forward. “Didn’t realize you cared that much about me. I thought I heard you cry when I was takin’ a beating. Makes mah heart all warm an' fuzzy.”

“Oh, shut up!” Arthur growled. “If you kept up with your magic like we all told you to, you would have won! And judging from what you were wagering, we would have gotten the better end of a deal!” He huffed. “That was extremely stupid of you to do, by the way. Suppose Lukas couldn’t have been trusted. If his dark ice manifested and struck something vital, you would have—” 

“Aye, but it didn’t so it’s all good.” The Ranger King slung Windcutter over his back and gave his brother’s hair a ruffle. “All things considered, that I came close means I’ve still got potential.” He glanced at Lukas who was melting the wall of ice he had created. “Imagine that, Shadow! Think I woulda won if I took mahself more seriously?”

“Perhaps so,” Lukas had to admit. “I’d say I was being rusty, but then, I’ve never truly used my full potential unless I meant to kill.”

When he caught his brother make a worried face, Allistor widely grinned. “I coulda done the same. Like I said, it’s not easy firing arrows an’ tryin’ to miss on purpose. We should do a rematch—winner gets to run the other’s kingdom for a week!”

“Allistor!” Arthur irritably snapped.

“I’ll need to consult Mathias on that,” Lukas evenly smiled.

“Aye, aye. You comin, Lukas? You’re hurt, too. Don’t wanna ruin yer pretty face.”

“Go on ahead. I’m almost done here. I’ll use a tracking spell to find my way back to you.”

“Suit yerself.” The brothers went on ahead, never leaving a dull moment as they bickered amongst each other. Arthur and Allistor, Bella and Noah…It would have appeared that both blood bearing siblings had something of a healthy relationship, however contrasted they appeared. Lukas wished his with Emil had not been the way it was. Suppose they had both been born of Ruined blood…He would have had someone to share his burdens with. Or better yet, Emil would not have had to carry the weight of The Everlasting within him.

He let his thoughts wander as the last of the ice thawed into a pool of water, the remnants of their duel vanishing beneath the sodden earth. Thanks to the endless supply of fog, it had been easy to conjure blocks after blocks of ice. They were solid and strong, but in the end, they had been no match for Allistor’s Arcane magic. _He held back, and even then, he cut through my ice like nothing. If it had been war, that would have played out much differently._

The Shadow wondered what Allistor’s magic was like at full potential. How many soldiers had he cut down with those blades and arrows of wind? Even against fel’n with their magic resistance, the friction of the air had to have been strong enough to do some damage. _Hero Archer…What a joke._ They did not feel like heroes when they had stormed the capital and beheaded the emperor. It had been a matter of duty.

“Ah…” He just remembered. Allistor had been there in the throne room, guarding the rear as usual. He would need to ask him if he recalled the events of that day. _Steady,_ he thought. _I’m almost done here._ When the last of the ice turned to water, he leveled the archery grounds, taking care to replace the ripped sod and reinforce the sloshed slopes of earth. He came last to the small hole where his icy javelin had one stood. He murmured the words of a spell and rose the earth and turned to leave. _Finished—_ He stopped. Something in the orange light of the sunset caught his eye. Had he forgotten to thaw a piece of ice?

Knitting his brow together, he knelt down and recited the dispelling words, but the glimmer would not vanish. His stomach felt weak. His left hand began to shake. Trembling, he moved his fingers over the shimmer and grabbed at it. There was something hard in his hand. He turned it in front of his eye to catch it in the light, but he had a good notion of what it was already. _Oh gods…I could have…_

He crushed it with his bare hand and scattered the powder along the lawn like salt. He could not have hoped to shrink it and hide it away, but the piece was small. It would never be found. Nothing had happened—so he told himself as he made his way to the infirmary. Everything began to sting all at once, his cheek, his shoulder, his hand… _Calm yourself. You’ve made it this far. You’re so close. It won’t happen again. No, nothing happened. Everything is going to be alright._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (OC) Scotland appeared in my very first Hetalia fanfiction with the name "Allistor." Of course, I’ve known that it's a misspelling of the more appropriate "Alistair", “Allister,” etc. but the wrong spelling kind of stuck, since he's not exactly canon yet and an interpretation of headcanons. If he ever comes out in canon and for some reason I take up writing again after this story is completed, I'll give his human name the proper spelling. In the context of this universe, those with Chottsymic accents probably speak more roughly than typical Tabrinnish folk, but if I wrote Allistor’s manner of speech any thicker, it’d be difficult to both read and write.


	28. His Exclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kirklands uphold their end of the deal and show Lukas to their archives. Some pieces fall into place.

Lukas counted the steps he took to lead himself through the castle. He focused on his breathing and the smells in the air. He looked at the lights and stole glances at the paintings. _Steady, steady._ He saw a shadow of a person walk past him. He turned his shoulder for an instant and saw dark hair. _Altorienese._ He tore himself away and continued walking. His hand stung more than his shoulder. _Shaking again…Steady now…_ The painting had a waterfall. The carpet was red. The temperature was comfortable. The smells were that of old papers and candlewax. He smelled the faint scent of honey. _Calm yourself._ He kept at it until all was still. At last, the shaking had subsided.

He had lost count of his steps and restarted at three hundred. By the fifth hundredth, he had arrived at a room with white ceramic flooring and shelves of salves, potions, balms, medicines, and powders galore. There was a series of beds for ill patients, and a woman in her middle ages was tending to Allistor’s arm. His heart lurched.

“When will you learn, lad? Children are so reckless these days,” she muttered. Her accent was different, not of Chottsym and not quite of Brysowgig. Dowsonnia, perhaps?

“Aye, it’s a shame this child is a king, int it?” Allistor joked. He had taken his leather and tunic off. His skin was pale and pink beneath. He shaved, Lukas noticed. Those of Chottsym, especially those with red hair like Allistor, were known to have hair covering their chest, arms, and legs. Not Allistor. Not when his magic relied so heavily on knowing the strength of the wind.

He could see a handful of faint scars that could have only been made by magic, as they had not completely healed. Lukas could make out burn wounds, plumes of lightning scars, and sharp cuts from ice and wind. The newest one was at his arm’s side, around his triceps. The healer clicked her tongue when she examined him. “Honestly, you think you were getting into a petty brawl, from these wounds, but this one’s cut in mighty deep. A king’s supposed to lead his people and run the kingdom, not get into magical duels and throw spells around like they were mudballs.”

“Aayye, I’m sorry, Margret. Won’t happen again anytime soon.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as the healer slapped his arm. Allistor let out a playful chuckle as she applied a healing salve over his gash and covered it with a roll of bandages. “There. Come back to me twice a day for changing.”

“Aaaayyye, thank you.” Allistor grinned when he saw Lukas standing in the doorway. “Lukas! Ready ta fix yerself up?”

He cautiously approached them, aware that he needed more treatment than his former opponent. “Am I expected to strip? Maybe it’s the dream of a blushing maid to do so in the presence of two kings, but I am a married man.”

Allistor and Arthur looked at one another before excusing themselves from the room without protest. The healer waited for him to remove his cape and pull away his robes. He removed yet another layer underneath before he saw skin. There was a bruise forming where the arrow had struck his shoulder. A dark red hole oozed sticky blood. The healer frowned to look at it. “A pretty thing like you shouldn’t get into a fight with His Majesty. Doesn’t matter if you win; the effort’s not worth it.”

“Perhaps not,” Lukas acknowledged. He could have just as easily gotten off with agreeing to Allistor’s terms, but that would have left him and the kingdom struggling to meet the Tabrinnish trade demands.

As Margret dabbed alcohol and ointments onto his shoulder, she talked to lengths of Allistor’s upbringing. “If His Majesty agreed to hold that silly duel of his, then he must have faith in your skills. He’s always been something of a stubborn oaf. He gets it from his mother.”

“Funny. I would have assumed father.” Allistor was the only one of his brothers old enough to remember His Late Majesty King Richard Kirkland VI. From the way he talked of his father when they supped together during the Sunset War, he had been rather fond of him. It was his father who had taught him how to hunt, ride, and fight. Perhaps that was why Allistor had been the only one with a penchant for archery and swordsmanship over magic. _And even then, he almost bested me. I’ve gotten complacent._

“Nine blessings to King Richard, he was too lax on His Majesty. He gave the lad a taste of freedom, and he developed a craving for it.” The healer chortled. “He does well enough with his responsibilities, however, I’d say. Being the oldest does that to a poor soul.”

“I would know,” Lukas agreed, though he wondered if he had done enough for Emil.

“Before that, he picked on all of his brothers like they were nothing but flea-ridden goblins. It wasn’t until the incident with Prince Arthur that he started taking his role seriously.”

“Which one? Their Majesties shared many of them with me.”

The healer gave him a mischievous smile. “If you know them well enough, you’ll know which one I’m speaking of.” She gave him a wink before clipping the last of Lukas’ bandages. “There now, that should do it. Your body’s more resilient than it looks, how about that? It makes a woman like me jealous. Your prime’s bound to age well into your twilight years.”

Lukas thanked her with a polite smile. When the pain had subsided and the wounds well cleaned and covered, he dressed himself back in his robes and left the infirmary. The Kirkland brothers were softly speaking to one another about political matters when Lukas approached them.

“Ready if you are, Bondevik,” Allistor grinned, cutting his conversation short with his brother. “E’en so…ya think ya wanna wait ‘til tomorrow ta se the archives?”

The thought sounded preferable, if anything. His cape was wet and covered with mud, and his robe had torn where the arrow had pierced him. His eyes were tired, and his head pounded in a terrible way. His hand—He checked it and flexed his fingers. One, two, three, four, five. All there, all good. _Steady._ “The sooner I finish here, the sooner I can return home. I don’t plan on staying up for too long. Just enough to know what sort of mess I’ve gotten myself into.”

“Well, when you think you’re ready to retire, I’ll show you where you’ll be boarded,” said Arthur.

“You’re joining us, aren’t you?” asked Lukas.

“As the king of Brysowgig, it’s my responsibility to know as much about the threat that could harm my people.”

 _Your resources, you mean?_ Lukas said nothing and followed after the brothers.

The Kirkland’s royal library was hidden in plain sight, between two doors, one that led to the courtyard and the other to a storage closet. “There’s a redirecting charm on the door,” Arthur explained when they passed through the archway. “To anyone who doesn’t dispel the charm, it leads to another storage closet.”

It was completely dark when the door closed behind them. He and Lukas watched Allistor bring out a trackle light and murmur a spell of ignition. In an instant, the walls burst in green flames, pouring down the stairwell and spiraling in growing rows all along the library until they reached the very top. Eight candles ignited on a chandelier that expanded throughout the entirety of the library, giving the space an almost poisonous glow. Lukas could better see books and tiles arranged in a circular star formation with all the furnishings pointing towards the center. There were two floors of the library, one on their ground level and another sinking into a hole with curved shelves constructed around the sides like a sort of well. 

Allistor led the front, sending his trackle light flying across the shelves to unveil books, scrolls, and parchments in pristine condition, preserved by spells. “Alright, lessee here…” the Ranger King murmured as he scanned the contents and titles of the book spines until his trackle light froze in midair. “Ah, here we go.” He motioned for Arthur and Lukas to follow him until they came to a shelf that contained mostly parchments. “These are genuine Arcane relics. There are notes containin’ the first written language before humanity decided it was better to create their own.” He picked one of the stacks up and dusted it off, though it held no dust. “How’s yer Arcane Tabrinnish holdin’ up, Artie?”

Arthur snorted. “Better than yours, I’d wager.” He gave the parchments a glance. “Bountiful plants. Not this one.”

Lukas also took a look before Allistor put them away. He had studied the Tabrinnish language to better improve his spellcasting abilities when his father had been alive. He had thought he had known common Tabrinnish better than most Crodinians, but the language he had just seen was unlike anything he had ever come across before. The hooks in the letters were wrong, and there were arrangements of characters that no longer appeared in modern Tabrinnish. On top of that, the words were written in a peculiar scrawl of handwritten fashion, nothing as neat and systematic as block printing or scholarly legibility. “You said something about Arcane Tabrinnish? What is that?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Allistor replied. “It’s what’s left over from the first upbringings o’ written language, handwritten by The Arcane. It’s not used for shite nowadays, an’ fer good reason.” He leafed through a book and tossed it to Lukas, who caught it and started to browse the pages, finding every trace of it almost as foreign as a scripture of Altorienese. “Whatcha make of it, Shadow?”

 _Even if I had to come here by force, I wouldn’t have been able to decipher any of these…_ “It’s…nothing easy,” he confessed and handed the book back to Allistor. He would not have been able to tell if it was a recipe for goulash or the secrets of the universe. “I suppose being royalty made it mandatory for you to learn this language.”

“You’d be correct,” Arthur frowned as he rummaged through a series of scrolls. His emerald eyes were accented by the flames that lit the library. “Mum taught us, herself, since there was no one else right in the head to pass down the language. It wasn’t easy for her, either. When Dad was always…Anyway, Dylan and I were the better students. It was Allistor and Cailean who were the slackoffs. We all had to learn at the same time, so you can imagine how rowdy things were.”

“Oh yes.” When Lukas had moved to the royal castle of Markal with Emil, he had been required to take classes alongside Mathias. Anything that involved physical activity such as swordsmanship and unarmed self-defense had gone smoothly enough, but whenever books and studying were involved, the crown prince had not been able to bring himself to sit still. He had often gotten distracted and made loud noises and scratched at his head as though there were spiders in his hair. It had gotten to the point where Lukas actually threw a nest of arachnids in his hair when he had fallen asleep. Mathias had awoken to a flurry of legs and curious nips from his new eight-legged residents. After a screaming fit of terror and a smoking spell later, the prince had managed to stay awake thereafter. In a family full of magically abled brothers, however, how much worse could the classes have gone?

Suddenly, Allistor’s face lit up as he ran his finger across a spine. “A-ha! Found it!” He pulled the book free and read its name aloud in Arcane Tabrinnish, the words like a jumble of tongue-tied nonsense to Lukas’ Crodinian ears. “ _Thrumdaka Haudomyn—_ or in modern Tabrinnish, _The Golden One’s Betrayal.”_ He popped open the book and flipped through the pages, searching for something specific. “Ma gave us some o’ these to read to practice our Arcane tongues. This was one o’ them.”

Arthur raised his brow in astonishment. “You were paying attention all that time?”

“Ha! Give me some credit, little brother,” Allistor laughed. He stopped at a page. “This one.” Lukas and Arthur drew in for a closer look. “Says here…lemme see…something aboot The Golden One and his—or is that an ‘its?’—seduction. It was banished to a life of wanderin’ torment when it sought to use the blood of man ta spread its influence unto ‘em. The further the blood spread, the stronger its influence grew, the more—beautiful works, I guess—beautiful it became. When feasted with light, its appearance grew more…bright—? Brighter. Until its colors turned gold.

“In exchange for its power, The Golden One gave offerin’s of its blood in kind. Parts to be missed, parts that It had lost. It would come again, we feared. And so we set to stop them. Small that we knew, they set in their glory to unite themselves into one, their might greater than what we had expected. So it was split, crushed, scattered to the soils.” Lukas felt his hand twitch. “Let us not speak their names, those who fell from good—grace—those who fell from grace. Those who turned fell and feral in the name of the lost…snake?” He stopped and flipped to the rest of the pages. The words had devolved into further illegible scribbles that did not look like characters of any lost or modern language. It was as though someone had taken a sponge to wet ink and smeared it all over the remaining pages. “Can’t read the rest. It’s always been like that.”

Arthur frowned and examined the passage. Lukas, meanwhile, had an ill feeling in his stomach. “Your translation was crude, but I suppose it got the point across.” He took the book and flipped back to the pages Allistor had read from. “Those who fell from grace…That’s a weird word. It implies goodness, but the root also hints at something else. Personality? Humanity? And when you said snake…” He scrunched his face and peered closer, his narrow eyes aglow with firelight. “Snake…The end-root is _‘sather.’_ That describes something alive with a long, slender form. So snake-like, not literally snake. It can allude to things like eels and worms, as well.”

His brother spat. “That’s what yer interested in? Not the parts talkin’ aboot The Golden One an’ the blood er whatnot?”

“Those parts, too, of course. I was merely bringing up how your translation could use some work,” Arthur huffed. “It wasn’t bad; I’m only still surprised you were paying attention during Mum’s lessons.”

Lukas wished he was able to understand a sliver of Arcane Tabrinnish to offer his own input. He only had Allistor’s rough translation to go off on, but if it bore any merit, then it was true that whatever this Golden One had been responsible for harvesting blood just as the druids were. _Were the druids part of this “influence” written in the record? And what is this “influence” The Arcane speaks of?_ He cursed the god for being so vague. If it had really thought to records such a crucial passage of history, why could it not have documented more details? What was this Golden One? His head ached from his questions. Surely the Kirklands had the same as him. “You two, what do you make of this?” The brothers stopped bickering and turned their attentions towards him. “What I’ve told you about the Altorienese and what was done to them…do you think any of this actually relates to what’s being written in that book?”

Allistor rubbed his chin. “Sounds like The Golden One had some kind o’ way of passin’ itself to others through blood. As in genetics or somethin’ o’ the like?”

Lukas felt a pang in his head. “Gold…Blood…The Altoriense with golden eyes. Perhaps it had something to do with them. It could be that the golden-eyed Altorienese were descendants of The Golden One? Like how we’re descendants of The Nine Divine?”

“That could be it,” acknowledged Arthur. “After all, you said they were the ones that had—” He shuddered. “—their blood extracted. But what was the point of collecting their blood?”

“To get a bunch in one place?” his brother shrugged.

Arthur frowned. “What about the limbs? And the thing about parts to be missed and lost? Lukas, you said you had encountered nine people who were dead in Stamper, but going off of what you already told me, there could have been many more whose limbs and blood were removed.”

“Nine, now?” The Ranger King Scratched his chin in thought. “What’re they buildin’? A centipede? That’s got enough legs, don’t it?”

“For gods’ sakes, be serious about this, Allistor!” Arthur chided him. “There are people dying! And whatever it is has to be related to something in this story! There are too many coincidences!”

“Aye, but if that’s the truth of it, then how did these druids know what to do? It’s systematic enough to make ya think that there was someone or somethin’ orderin’ these druids aroond. It’s not e’en one person, from what Lukas’ gathered; it’s several. Top o’ all that, why are we worried aboot a few Altorienese gone missin’? Not like they were ever any good to us, ‘sides the colonies we got from ‘em.”

Arthur looked to be at a loss for words. His emerald eyes blazed and sparkled in the fires. “I—I don’t know. It’s our duty as kings to worry about the people, isn’t it? Even if you don’t see them as humans, they’re…they’re property...?” He sighed and ran his fingers through his tangled bird’s nest of hair, the glow of the green flames pulsing against his skin. “The Golden One, it said…I’ve always thought the image I’ve seen in my visions were speaking of it, but...that’s silly, isn’t it?”

“Why would it be?” Lukas asked, feeling a spark of a connection. “I felt something like that, too, when I went to The Arcane’s resting place with Allistor.” 

Arthur furrowed his dark eyebrows. “What did you see? What did you feel?”

“A golden light, feelings of anger, betrayal…”

“I’ve seen the light,” Arthur said, a tremor of fear in his voice. “It glowed and coiled itself like a, well, a _sather_ , I suppose. I remember feeling…disappointed? It was as though the sight was something I wasn’t expecting.” He looked to Allistor. “You’ve told me you’ve seen it, too.”

“Aye,” his brother nodded, “but just ‘cause we’ve all seen the same golden light doesn’t mean it’s The Golden One mentioned in this book.” He fingered the illegible pages, their smudges an insult to their curiosity. Frowning, he continued to turn the pages and stared. “The fuck…?” He murmured a passage of Arcane Tabrinnish under his breath and made a face. “ _Fafecca udth...nardtha.”_

“What does that mean?” asked Lukas.

“To the ending us will witness,” said Allistor, but his brother cut in and peered at the words.

“This is a combination of a plural possessive pronoun. You made a literal translation. In cleaned speaking fashion, it’d be more like ‘We will see to their end.’” 

Lukas felt a chill in spite of the surrounding green flames. “I don’t suppose you have any clue as to who this ‘we’ is, do you two?” Neither Kirkland said a word. Lukas hugged his chest. “There wouldn’t happen to be another copy of _The Golden One’s Betrayal,_ would there?”

“’Fraid this is the only copy I know of,” Allistor said. “Not like The Arcane’d think o’ copyin’ its own journals.” He showed him the front cover. “It’s still got my tear in the canvas from when I nicked it with my knife. Ma scolded me fer that one.”

“Nine Divine,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of _course_ you'd use a bloody azielan knife.”

“Ya think this whole thing’s fer the be’er?” Allistor considered aloud, scanning the book over again. “Says here how The Golden One’s in the wrong fer betrayin’ The Arcane—and the other Eight Divine, I’m gonna guess. Why else’d The Nine Divine think ta stop its spread? An’ if there’s a sudden spike in numbers o’ Altorienese with golden eyes, maybe the druids came ‘round to stop whatever bad thing was supposed ta happen.”

Lukas blinked. “That _could_ be a possibility…After all, we seem to be in agreement that whatever feelings we had towards the golden light in our visions was nothing positive.”

Arthur furrowed his brow. “One would think something as important as this would have been passed directly onto our descendants—or that animosity towards those with golden eyes was innate. But we can’t really know unless we were able to catch the perpetrators in the act. Even if it was somehow a good thing that the Altorienese were being kidnapped the way they were, it seems downright bloody savage to kill them how they did.”

They could all agree on that. Allistor and Lukas had been witnesses to torturous methods in Altorien, but they had not deliberately drained their prisoners’ blood. Limb-hacking, however, Lukas had been familiar to, but the victims he had read were void of any ill crimes. _They were all innocent. Who was to say they bore any ill blood just because of how they looked?_ He thought of Leon and his rash bravery. By all accounts, the boy should have turned and fled the scene of carnage as soon as Emil had transformed, but he had not only stayed but had chosen to remain with his master. _Am I in error, here,_ he wondered? But there was still something missing. Why could he not think of it? Where would they find it?

“Well,” Allistor sighed, “since we’re gettin’ somethin’ outta this, might as well do a fair job o’ diggin’. Artie, didja talk ta the ministers aboot—?”

“That was taken care of in Brysowgig,” he answered. “Our guard and patrols should be on the lookout for anything suspicious involving the Altorienese. I was sure to also cover the ports, estates, markets…er, brothels…”

“That’s all fine an’ well. From what it sounds like, those wit’ golden eyes came from different upbrinin’s, aye?”

“You’d be correct,” confirmed Lukas. “They ranged from young adults to those who looked to be in their fifties. No children, thank the gods. Although…there were two children who were involved when the kidnappings took place.”

The Ranger King’s eyes suddenly grew dark at that mentioning. “That’s news to me.”

“Two children were born of two different Altorienese victims—one was from a woman, the other, the son of a male merchant. Both happened to have golden eyes. The child from the woman…didn’t live very long. But the mother became victim to a greater number of tests than the others. Same with the merchant. His son, however…I don’t know what became of him. I would think that there’s something significant about that woman and man, something to do with their ability to pass on their golden eyes, which further cements the assumption that those who can pass on the trait are more important.”

“The further the blood spread, the stronger its influence grew,” Arthur repeated the words Allistor had translated from The Arcane’s record. “Are the druids trying to stop the spread of this ‘influence,’ or are they trying to further it?”

“Stop it, more like,” Allistor presumed. “What good is yer ‘influence’ if yer dead? They killed those Altorienese. What good does the blood an’ limbs, alone, do?”

Lukas let out a sigh. “I don’t know. What I _do_ know is that my head is killing me.”

Arthur gave his brother a quick glance before speaking to him. “You must be exhausted from the trip and the battle. If you want, we can do some browsing while you rest. I can show you to a room, if you’d like.”

 _And have me sit around while something possibly writhes around all of Eliatha?_ Lukas wanted to resist, but he had to accept he was just as good as useless here, being unable to translate Arcane Tabrinnish. And he needed the rest. What would Mathias say if he returned with a daily migraine? _I was supposed to be on a splendid picnic with the Maeses. Oh well…_ “Sleep sounds like a good idea,” he at last agreed. “Thank you for humoring me, you two.”

Allistor gave a chuckle. “Honestly, were it anyone else, I’d say you were mad as a sober Kalbansman in winter. But, a promise is a promise. Not one to go back on my word jus’ ‘cause I came close ta winnin’.”

Arthur grumbled something about his brother slacking off in his magic, but he ushered Lukas back up the stairs. “Follow me, Lukas. I take it you don’t have many belongings, so I’ll show you to the east rooms.”

The eastern wing of the castle was decorated with bright green velvets and carpeting, complete with golden trimmings and paintings of sceneries of venues owned by the Kirklands. Lukas saw paintings of a white villa with a large pond of lilies, a summer house with a massive garden of flowers spread across a lush green knoll, and a serene cottage with a sandy beach at the bottom of a cliff, accessible by neat stone steps. The entirety of the Castle Kirkland was alight with magic, the lights dimmed to match the darkened evening hush that fell over the castle. Somewhere far away, Lukas thought he heard the soft sound of a woman singing in Chottsym notes, the tune shrill, lonely, and nostalgic. “Who’s singing?”

“When night falls, sometimes we have maids who like to practice instruments and songs in one of the musical rooms,” Arthur explained. “The best ones are allowed to perform during dinner events or little festivals, and whatnot. Mum didn’t like them singing because of how Dad acted, but when Allistor took over, he gave permissions back to the maids.”

“King Richard was…” He did not know if he should have finished his question. “…like you, wasn’t he?”

Arthur did not look at him. He knew what he was referring to. “He was.” There was a falter in the young king’s voice. “I don’t think that had anything to do with _how_ he was. I turned out fine, I’d like to think, even if my brothers tease me about it. But sometimes I have doubts.” He stopped in front of a plain wooden door. Only then did he turn and face Lukas. “Is it the same for you? Do you feel instances…?”

“Who can say?” Lukas shrugged. “My father wasn’t exactly the model parent. I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between being my upbringing or something inherent of mine.”

“Right…I can understand that.” Arthur cleared his throat and opened the door. “Here we are. If you need anything, you can ring a bell here.” He gestured to a braided pull rope that hung to the side. “And there’s another pull over there by the bed.”

Lukas’ room had polished wooden floorings of darkwood oak and banners of green that bore no dust. A vanity with a washing basin and a dresser were positioned on two faces of the room. Next to the dresser was also a large wardrobe for storing clothes, for those who did not have the convenience of shrinking charms handy. Lukas had to himself a single large lattice window of stained glass overlooking the castle’s posterior yard. It was dark now, and though there were torches that lit pathways all along the gardens, training grounds, and stables, he could not see beyond the common walls. If the forest and lake were visible from his window, he would not be able to tell until morning.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked the young king before he excused himself.

“Might as well help Allistor since I’m here,” Arthur exhaled. “He’s got most of the language down, but you never know.”

Lukas smiled. “Try not to knock heads, alright?”

“We don’t do that anymore,” he responded in an unconvincing way. “Well, I don’t, anyway. We’re not children anymore.”

 _Yet I think your brothers will always see you as such, the way I see mine,_ Lukas thought to himself. He gave Arthur a short bow. “If you say so. You have my gratitude for making all of these accommodations.”

He caught a hint of color flush across Arthur’s cheeks. “Yes, well, you’re giving us something in return. This is helping my people, too.”

“Of course.” He nearly opened his mouth to say more, but something at the back of his mind told him to hold his tongue. “Don’t stay up too late. Good night, Your Majesty.”

Arthur pressed his lips together before returning his response. When he left, Lukas shut the door and brought out some of his belongings. He changed out of his soiled robes and cape and donned his sleeping wear. Though he had had it washed in one of the inns, it smelled of a strange lye soap. In common dwellings, it would have appeared that the Tabrinnish did not infuse strong perfumes or oils into their detergents. Sighing, he threw his old robes, cape, trousers, and small clothes down a hamper for the castle servants to wash. _Are there Altorienese down there to serve me?_ When he was changed, he used the washing basin to rinse his face of the dirt and dust that still remained from his duel. His shoulder stung as he moved his arm, and he tested out its reach with a few rolls of his arm. _Not too bad. It’s still usable._ Were Emil here, he could have healed him up without a thought. _He’s not. Remember that, now._

He studied himself in the vanity mirror and pulled his fallen blonde waves from his eyes. There was a faint scar where Allistor’s arrow had pierced his cheek. _What am I going to tell Mathias? That I got a paper cut when helping Bella fold paper?_ His husband would ask about this, of that, he had no doubt. Mathias had kissed him several times. He could have been able to tell which feature he was touching even if he was blindfolded. _Ah well, this was my own doing._ He would need to practice with his non-Ruined magic when he returned to Crodinia. Thinking of his kingdom now, his heart ached, and his head pounded. He needed to rest.

Sleep came easily to him. When he pulled himself into his bed, dimmed the room’s lights, and closed his eyes, his mind drew itself into a quick blank. His slumber, however, did not last as long as his body would have liked. He soon awoke to a pitch-black room, the only sounds to be heard was a soft rhythmic swishing, and a rustle of what sounded like vines shivering along the walls outside. He rolled to his side and caught a sliver of the moon peeking out from behind the castle. The crescent was so small that its light had not even shone into his quarters, rather. _Can you see the night sky yet, Emil?_ In his time in Morstur, he had learned to live with bouts of everlasting days and nights. How perfect for an immortal being, he had thought.

Lukas let out a yawn and stretched—only to be greeted with a sharp pain shooting through his shoulder and into his neck. “Ngh, damn you, Allistor.” His arms collapsed across his covers, and he found himself wide awake. Sleep was not coming to him, and he thought to read through one of the books he had purchased in Brysowgig. He rose from his bed and moved across the room passed the window when he saw a light flash against the hidden moonlight. Starting, he froze and readied a spell, when he saw another flash sail. It was coming from the training grounds. From the speed of the lights’ paths, he had a feeling he knew what the lights were. He no longer wanted to read. He brought out a clean set of robes from his pouch and pulled them over his sleepwear. He checked his appearance for any tangles in his hair, smoothed out his fabrics, and put on his boots. Then, he left for the closest exit to the back.

Droplets in the midnight mist kissed his cheeks with cold lips, and the forest pulsed with a slumbering breath like a sleeping giant. Off yonder, a chorus of frogs ribbited in summer’s final moments, and the fog and clouds above swam and swirled in the heavens as though it was a river. Against the serenity, the flashes were still firing when the Shadow glided across the lawn to where the Ranger King was practicing. He had on him a wooden training bow. Windcutter was nowhere to be found. The target he was practicing on was so far away that Lukas could not see it in the darkness.

“Morning Yer Majesty,” Allistor grinned with casual sarcasm. “Don’t suppose I woke ya?”

“No, this happens sometimes.” He woke less when Mathias bedded him. “What about you? Did you even sleep, or is something keeping you awake?”

“Can’t sleep,” said the king. “Kept thinkin’ aboot our duel, an’ Artie was right, shamed as I am to confess. If I ‘ad kept up with my magic like the lot o’ my brothers, I would’ve beaten ya.”

“Please,” Lukas smirked, “it’s only because I was holding back. Against dark ice, that would have been a different story.” He moved the fingers on his left hand to check that they were holding steady. So far, so good.

“Could be that I was holdin’ back as well,” toyed Allistor. He fired another arrow into the darkness. Lukas heard something strike straw. “That’s another one fer me,” he sang, though no crowd celebrated with him. “Ah, it’s too bad yer not an archer, yerself. It’s no fun when yer the best o’ yer league.”

“Some would say an archer prince is not as valiant as someone on the front lines.”

“Psh, like yer one ta talk about courage an’ chivalry. Someone’s gotteh guard the rear.”

“That I know. I meant no offense.” _The rear…_ “Allistor, may I ask you something?”

“Askin’ me now, aintcha?”

Lukas refrained from rolling his eyes. “Do you remember what color emperor of Altorien’s eyes was?”

“The Garnered’s?” Allistor’s brow furrowed. He fired another arrow. Something struck straw. “Gold it was.”

 _Gold._ It was as he suspected. But now what? Why would that have made him any more significant than someone with brown or black eyes? Or even green, blue, hazel, lavender…? He had thought that some Altorienese within their social constructs despised those with golden eyes. So how then, had the emperor been chosen despite that trait? “You’re positive his eyes were golden?” 

“I may’ve been in the back o’ the throne room when Mathias killed ‘im, but my eyes are sharp, Shadow. I remember ‘em bein’ gold.” 

_Odd. We were closer than him. So why can’t we remember?_ “Do I really have your word on that?”

“As sure as I stand here.” Allistor withdrew his bow and turned to him. “There a reason why yer askin’ this outta nowhere?”

“Curiosity, perhaps.” There may have been more, but he could not say without knowing all of the details. “Did you and Arthur find out anything new in the archives?”

The Ranger King’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Not anythin’ that’d give us any leads. That said…” He chewed the insides of his cheeks and rolled back his neck. It gave a hard crack that made Lukas withhold a grimace. “We started to notice somethin’ that _wasn’t_ there.”

“Such as?” Lukas watched Allistor stretch his bow arm over his chest and pull it to his left side. His back also cracked when he twisted his waist alongside his arm.

“I’ll tell ye tomorrow. It’s gettin’ late. ‘Sides, it’s best not to show you when the moon’s like this. We’ve got creatures that lurk in the woods.”

Lukas dared not press someone who had grown up around Chottsym’s forests. “I’ll let you get back to your practice.” He bid His Majesty goodnight for the second time and made his way back to his chambers, a sudden pain returning to his head. He caught the glinting lights on the lawn and thought back to his mistake. _It’s buried. They’ll never find it._ Still, the dewdrops taunted him and his lacking fortitude. He needed to get better. He always needed to. He looked not back at Allistor as he heard another arrow fly into the darkness, the sound of it striking straw further mockery to his being.

* * *

He woke to a greeting of gray sunlight this time. A cockerel crowed five times in succession, and again, Lukas knew he was not in the royal chambers with Mathias. His beds grew larger and emptier by the day, regardless of where he slept. Having fallen asleep in his outing clothes, he picked himself out of bed and slipped on his boots. He packed his possessions, stored them in his pouch, and slung it over his belt. He studied his face and hair, checking for any traces of sand along the grooves of his eyes. He washed his face in the water basin and brushed his hair until it fluffed like a dandelion. His hair felt looser without the clip pinning his hair back. It bore a weight, it being made with glassbark and a solid gold coating, but it was a weight he proudly wore. 

The Kirklands’ dining hall had but a few men and women eating at the darkwood oak table. Among them were the two kings, Allistor sitting at the furthest end, Arthur to his west. Also scattered towards the kings’ end were the councilmen from the Round Tower. The Ranger King with his eagle eyes spotted Lukas first, calling him over with an eating knife in hand. Arthur flinched from his gesture. “Mornin’ Lukas!” the king greeted him with a booming voice not fit for morning. Even Mathias had the courtesy to save his voice for the afternoon. “Saved a spot fer ya! Don’t be shy, they don’t bite much!” He gestured to his councilmen.

Since the king of Chottsym offered him a seat beside him, Lukas could not refuse his invitation. When he did nestle himself in his seat, Allistor slapped him across the back. “No hard feelin’s from yesterday’s duel. Get ta tell everyone I fought the Shadow and lost by a hair.” He wolfed down a slice of dark haggis. “Gonna be honest, that was one frick of a fight. Tells me e’en with ma lack o’ magic, I was still level wit’cha. Imagine what I could do if I practiced.” Arthur was seated on Lukas’ left, not saying a word. He was politely nibbling on buttered bread.

Lukas brought himself to entertain his hosts diners of their duel, thick as their accents were, taking care to only open his mouth when addressed directly. Arthur was quiet through most of the meal, offering small quips of sarcasm his brother’s way, of which they were all ignored. When everyone was satiated, Allistor dismissed his men and told them he would join them shortly in the later part of the day.

“Most days, yer just expected to talk and listen and deal with commonfolk an’ nobles,” Allistor rolled his neck. He loudly yawned, having eaten a great deal. “O’ course there’s matters o’ keepin’ alliances together, diplomattin’, soldiers to knight…Ya learn a great deal aboot people: what makes ‘em tick, the kinds o’ words they say ta sway ya, how they go mad with power, greed, an’ grief…” He opened his eyes and stared directly at Lukas who had since glued himself to his seat. “After I’m done here, we’ll go back to the stones, aye?”

Lukas blinked. _I don’t recall ever saying—Ah. I see._

“I’m going, too,” Arthur let out a sigh. “His Majesty wants me to come along.”

When the rulers were able to address morning matters and slip away from the commonfolk and servants, they returned to the stables, mounted on their horses—Lukas once again receiving Licorice—and departed back for The Arcane’s resting place. All the while, Lukas noticed how awkward Arthur looked atop a Scydleback. He would have thought someone so innately snooty would have learned how to master horseback riding.

“Bah…Bloody…” There were more curses like this. Lukas thought to worm his way into his heart for kicks, but it was apparent the king had more than enough suffering as of late.

“Try ta keep up, Artie!” Allistor teased from the front. His mare might as well have been an extension of his legs. “E’en Lukas is catchin’ up!”

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t take you for someone who disliked riding,” Lukas commented.

“I don’t _dislike_ it, but I can’t say it’s for me. What if my horse gets spooked or trips? I could break my neck.”

“Hasn’t happened so far.” Lukas ushered Licorice forward and joined with Allistor, who paced himself just enough for his brother to keep them in sight.

The ring of stones showed itself through the clearing of the thicket. The air grew still, so much so that Lukas could hear every crunch of twigs and leaves beneath their mounts’ hooves. He could feel the woolen threads brush against his skin as though they were made of soft caterpillars, and his breath felt like a storm in his body. He was back here again. _Again, again…_ the word seemed to echo in his head. _How must the other resting places be like if I feel a sensation here, despite my blood?_

Time slowed to a halt upon dismounting. The horses dared not venture too close to the circle of stones and hung back enough to nibble on stray grasses. Allistor craned his neck to the tops of the markers and moved to one after another, making a circular path around his ancestor’s grave. “Sure enough, yer right, Artie,” he mumbled.

Arthur held his stomach to his chest as though he would heave. His skin was goose-prickled, and his lips tightened like a sun-dried corpse. “I hate this place.”

"If you hate it so much, why are we here?" asked Lukas.

“Shadow,” Allistor called to him, “first of all, why do ya care so much about this whole golden-eyed affair?”

 _Answering with another question…_ “Because…” _I want my own sense of peace, those whose memories I’ve looked into…_

“Is it fer Emil? He has a pet…” The king snapped his fingers in an attempt to remember. “Leon! That was it, Leon. That’s a Tabrinnish name…” He smirked. “Good choice o’ name, I’ve gotta say. Almost coulda believed he was part Tabrinnish, what with his thick eyebrows o’ his.” It was as if something struck Allistor, and Lukas, too. But the spark vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Ah…It _is_ for yer brother, int it?”

“I want to believe that, but I’m not so sure anymore. This may be something bigger. My brother, I have no relative fear for. But the destruction this is causing…” He moved his eyes to the stones.

“Ya think yer partially responsible fer letting the war turn out the way it did?” Allistor shortly laughed. “Shadow, this was a long time comin’ ‘fore ya came along.”

Lukas felt his blood grow hot. “Why would you say that?”

Allistor jerked his head to the ring. “How many stones ya count?”

Lukas stared into the center and counted the stones that surrounded the ring. _Four, five, six…seven…_ “Eight,” he answered with a furrowed brow. “Funny. I would’ve thought there’d be—”

“Nine, aye? Artie’s the one who pointed that out ‘spite me comin’ out here more often. It’s the same as The Arcane’s records. There was one that was missin’.”

“Which one?”

“That who is golden and beautiful, pridin’ all that is diverse above all else.”

He knew then. “The Ornate.” A phantom knife twisted in his gut that was not his own. He staggered and kept his distance from the center of the ring. Even Allistor seemed wary of it now, as though something with the circle had stirred with an ancient hostility. But now, some things started to fall into pieces: the diversity of character and classes, the inheritability of physical traits, the golden light, The Arcane’s records… _The Ornate is The Golden One…_

Arthur’s arms were still hugged over his body. “There hasn’t been an Ornate blood bearer since—well—ever. Could very be that there never was. But that doesn't mean it never passed physical traits on, like the golden eyes for starters.”

“We came up wit’ the guess that The Ornate split itself to a point where it wasn’t viable as a divine beast anymore,” Allistor chimed in. “Could be it never wanted ta keep its blessings all to itself. And that’s where Artie an’ I think the blood comes in: gather the remains together, an’ ya might be able to fuse together an artificial blood bearer.”

Lukas blinked. “That would imply those responsible for the kidnappings and murders know that blood bearers exist.”

“Aye, aye, we thought of that, too. But were that the case, then yer brother an’ his ancestors would’ve been easy pickin’s, vessel or not. Same can be said about our current Fair bearer. Pickin’ off that one’d be easier than smartin’ Artie, what with all the magic they’ve got at their disposal.”

Arthur glared daggers at his brother, but he withheld himself from retorting. “It could just be that they only think The Ornate’s blood is special, but even if they knew that it _was_ ‘special,’ they might not even know it belongs _to_ The Ornate, or else someone should have made the assumption that maybe the other Eight Divine passed on their blood, as well.”

“And they haven’t gone after us,” said Lukas. He would have thought that the kidnappers were too wary of going after the living blood bearers, but Allistor also had a point: even with The Fair’s defenses, it would have been easy for those with advanced magic to overcome its current living blood bearer. _But it could also be that it’s far easier finding traces of The Ornate if it left behind golden eyes._ “What about the limbs? The blood on its own is a key component, but I can’t understand the limbs. They were so meticulous.”

“Think I’ve heard a story like this,” said Allistor. “A mad necromancer thought to create life by combining alchemy, necromancy, an’ body parts ta make a living thing—only what came outta that mess was nothin’ short of a monster. But with that many limbs, fuck, I’d still wager they were makin’ a centipede. Caterpillar if centipedes aren’t yer thing.”

Arthur leered poison-tipped daggers at his brother before speaking to Lukas. “We’ve come to the rough conclusion that, at the very least, the Altorienese with golden eyes might be getting harvested for traces of The Ornate’s blood, but even if they were actually trying to create an artificial blood bearer, they’re forgetting something.”

“There are no blessings,” Lukas frowned in knowing. His father had told him that there were attempts by his and the other blood bearers’ ancestors to seek out those missing—those who possibly bore blood of The Ornate, The Wrought, and The Venturous. Blessings were always consistent and unmatched to ordinary human beings, being able to pass on incredible strength, high magical potential, infectious charisma, and in Emil’s case, immortality.

“The Ornate is thought to have been the most superficial of The Nine Divine,” said Arthur, a ponderous expression clouding his eyes. “The Kirklands and their records believe such blessings from The Ornate would have appeared as a form of unfathomable beauty. There really hasn’t been someone like that in history. As you know, every individual has their own subjective opinion of what makes someone beautiful. But one with The Ornate’s blessings would be thought to be irresistible.”

“Irresistible, huh?” _Mathias certainly has that effect on me, that impossibility._ “So, what you’re saying is all of this effort is for nothing?”

“People are still being taken and dying, as far as we’re concerned. It’s only right to stop this, regardless of the implications. I’ve sent letters to Cailean and Dylan, too, to let them know about the Altorienese being kidnapped. And Tim and his siblings are aware of what’s happening, of course. It could serve us to alert the other kingdoms if this actually concerned all blood bearers.”

Allistor was in agreement, reluctant as he seemed to mention the other kingdoms. “I suppose as the oldest, it falls on me ta tell Dotriba and Thursaunia. Gonna be real crummy tryin’ ta explain all this in letters, but it’s either this or go to them, ourselves.”

Lukas also did not like the idea of entering through Dotriba if he could help it. He would have to cross into Dotriban territory if he wanted to even reach Thursaunia, and that was a trip he had not physically or mentally prepared for. “So this is it, then? Now that we think we know what’s happening, we’re going to leave it at that?”

“We’re still gonna to bring justice to those responsible, don’t get me wrong,” said Allistor. “But if this had anythin’ ta do with yer concern with Leon, then there shouldn’t be anything ta worry yerself silly aboot. Just protect Emil an’ keep ‘im close to yer side, an’ I’m sure Leon’ll do the same. He looks to be the type.”

Lukas could have burst out laughing from the thought. _Me protect Emil? I was barely strong enough to protect myself._ “I will do that, of that you need not doubt.” _And of Leon’s conviction, I have no qualms about._

Then, as he was mulling over his thoughts, Allistor walked over to him and loudly slapped a hand hard on his good shoulder. “Cheer up, Lukas, we’ve got this! Ya mentioned there bein’ druids with tough magic, so this is our territory. Let us handle this. You can get yourself back on over ta Mathias now!”

“And leave all the fun to you?” he teased. No, he understood something like this would lead into a hands-on investigation. If there was anything Allistor wanted to avoid, it was having to sit at the head of a table and hear a group of middle-aged men talk their heads off. Perhaps this would be good for him.

Arthur rolled his emerald eyes. “I’ll keep an eye on him, Your Majesty. In the meantime, such magical involvement also means _someone_ has to get a better handle on it.”

“Aye, yer a capable lad, Artie,” Allistor joked. “I’ll leave that to you.”

“Oh knock it off,” Arthur huffed. “If you’re done, then let’s get this over with. I want to get out of here. If you would be so kind as to give me some space…”

Lukas watched the young king push his way past his brother and walk to the center of the stones. He released a sigh and sat on the wet grass and closed his eyes. Allistor leaned his mouth to Lukas’ ear. “He gets these mad visions ‘cause his blood’s thicker than ours. Dad was the same way.”

The session could not have lasted more than a second, but when Arthur opened his eyes, his face had gone pale and his breath short and irregular. Lukas moved forward to see if he needed help, but Allistor barred his path with an outstretched arm. They watched from a distance as Arthur staggered to his feet and steadied his breathing. When his eyes calmed, and his breaths smoothed over, he trudged back outside of the ring and leaned against the outermost face of a stone. “I really hate this place. Let’s go. I’m done.”

“What did you see—?” Lukas started until Allistor silently led him back to their horses.

The ride back was silent and filled with a heavy air, though they had left the forest far behind, and the fog had cleared for the coming afternoon. Arthur was the first to dismount, having fallen mute. He disappeared to somewhere unknown to Lukas, and only then did Allistor speak with him. “No hard feelin’s aboot that, aye, Shadow? He gets so many visions all at once that he needs time t’ process ‘em all. The more he tells us right away, the more he forgets. He’ll tell us what he saw when he’s ready.”

“I see…”

Allistor’s grin returned like a flip of a lid. “So ‘en! What’s yer plan now? Ya gonna go home or stay here and keep me company? Could let you run the kingdom for a spell ‘til we find the druids or what haves ya?”

“Pass on the kingdom. It’s enough to filter your Chottsym-accented Tabrinnish. Managing a while kingdom of speakers would drive me insane. Also I owe the Maeses a recipe exchange back in Belethren. Plus I need to check if Mathias’ burned the kingdom to the ground.”

“Ah tha’s a shame. Maybe next year Artie’ll learn ta stay outta trouble, an’ I can see the rest of the Red Summer fests.”

Lukas smiled. “You’re always invited, Your Majesty—even more because you’re about to become a very important customer of ours.”

The king smiled wider. “Next we meet, I’ll win fer sure. I’m gonna try mighty hard to impress you.”

“I’m already impressed,” he genuinely meant. He would have to work harder.

Allistor proposed lunch, and while Lukas was still full from this morning’s Tabrinnish breakfast, he was not one to refuse the Ranger King. He dined on salmon and mashed turnips, avoiding the abundance of sausages he was offered. For dessert, he took two shortbread cookies and tried a helping of toffee pudding, finding it wonderfully delicious.

Arthur came sauntering into the dining hall after everyone had finished eating. He took a scant helping of sausage and a slice of haggis and downed his meal with a pint of ale. He also ate what was leftover of the toffee pudding, refusing to let the cooks make a new batch for him. All the while, Allistor shared with Lukas stories of his childhood and his time with the late King Richard. Arthur politely dabbed his mouth with a napkin when he finished eating, and to announce he was done, he cleared his throat and stared at his brother.

“Peh, you don’t need me ta excuse you now. Yer a king, too, you know.” Allistor stood first, and the others followed suit. He took Lukas and Arthur back to their family’s old archives, where they would have some comfortable privacy. “At last, His Majesty speaks,” Allistor waved over to his brother.

“Bugger you,” Arthur spat. He scratched at his hair, not unlike how Mathias did so once upon a time ago. “I saw shadows and _sathers_. There was blood and steel, beasts roaring. I think I was seeing The Dawning.”

His brother’s eyes lit up. “There’s somethin’ ye don’t hear aboot so often.”

“There was something else, too,” Arthur added. “A soft feeling. A white light. I wanted to reach to it, but I had this feeling telling me I needed to leave.” He struggled to find the words. “It was hard to explain…I just know I needed to leave, but there was a feeling of—It wasn’t sadness, but it hurt to leave.”

Lukas’ heart stirred. _Emil…_

“That’s all I could retain,” Arthur sighed. “There was definitely more, but everything became blurry as always.”

“Ya did good, li’l brother,” Allistor smiled. “Serpents and shadows, then…My suns’re on the colossi. Historians speak o’ great beasties with long bodies an’ slithering monsters.”

Lukas thought of the letter from Berwald and the kraken attack, how such children of the old ones had attempted to go after him when using his cold fire. “Do you think the kidnappers are related to the ancient ones in some way? Arthur, you spoke of serpentine creatures, and there were similar mentions of a _sather_ in _The Golden One’s Betrayal.”_

The brothers both considered that. “That why The Arcane called The Ornate a traitor? Suppose it defected to the ancient ones?”

Arthur furrowed his dark eyebrows. “What good could a divine beast gain from joining a bunch of feral monsters?”

“Whatdya mean? It’s The Ornate! Spreadin’ its influence is its whole purpose!”

“Alright? And say it actually joined the ancient ones. Then what?”

“Lose an’ get lost in the pages o’ history, what else? We did the research and counted. Its own brethren don’t e’en mention The Ornate anymore. That _we_ remember it in spite o’ not having a blood bearer is impressive.”

“It is,” Lukas acknowledge aloud, and that somehow bothered him. “Although I suppose ‘The Nine Divine’ rolls off the tongue far better than ‘The Eight Divine.’”

The brothers agreed, and the library fell into a somber quietness, the green glow of the flames adding to the discomforting feeling. Allistor was the one to break the silence, of course. “Right then! No point in sittin’ around waitin’ on our asses!”

“We’re all standing,” Arthur grumbled.

“Artie, I need ya to return t’ Brysowgig ta get the ministries searchin’ o’er the colonies.”

“What about Cailean and Dylan?”

“They’ve already got their hands full wit’ Dowsonnia an’ Faltsbend,” Allistor stated as though that were completely obvious. “Since Brysowgig is yer kingdom, y’ave got full control o’ the ministries. It’s easier fer you.”

“Limsekr’s shoe scum, fine, I’ll do it.”

“I know ya can!” his older brother beamed in friendly fashion. “I’ll speak with the counselors. Gotta prepare passage fer the Shadow’s return home in the meantime.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’ll be our of your hair in an hour.” He looked at Lukas. “Lukas, if I don’t happen to see you before I leave, then…I don’t know. Good luck, I suppose.”

Lukas smiled as only the Shadow knew how to. “I’ll say the same for you. Thank you for all your help.”

A flustered look later, Arthur dashed up the stairs and left the library. Lukas, meanwhile, had to remind Allistor of his itinerary. “I need to go back to Tyse first. My ship is there, and Mathias has no idea I’m here.”

“Mighty rude of you to go on such a grand adventure without yer special someone. Should take me with you sometime.”

“Only if it’s covered by your coffers,” Lukas humored him. “I should thank you, as well. It wasn’t a cheap affair, but the information you and Arthur have gathered has given me some closure.” He sighed. “We’ll need to do our part in ensuring we wrangle those responsible. My suspicions are fewer, but we still need to be vigilant.”

“Aye, but it’s more the druid-what-have-ya’s that I’m worried aboot now that the Shadow is hot on their heels.” Allistor smiled in a whimsical way. He looked as though he was ready to say something, but like the ever-changing wind, he tapped Lukas’ shoulder and started up the stairs. “Think you’ll stay another night, or are the Maeses more important than me?”

“There’s only one of me, unfortunately,” Lukas smirked, following after him. “I only fabricated enough letters to Mathias to last me about two weeks. If I keep him any longer, my narrative will fall apart. The sooner I return to Tyse, the better.”

“Hey, no hard feelin’s.” The Ranger King had never appeared to be someone to get lost in sentiments; to him, the feelings could slide off like water on a duck’s down. “I’ll get you that ship, ‘en, aye? You can take a ferry down ta the Fourth Finger, an’ a merchant ship can take ya back across the Sea o’ R’as.”

“Excellent.” Just thinking about the return trip home makes Lukas’ body relax. His hand had stopped its shaking fits. “I don’t suppose you could lend me one of your carriages, too, while you’re at it?”

* * *

The world was white when he awoke. His eyes squinted open and peered at the open sky above. The sun hid itself behind a sea of clouds, reflecting its rays against the floating curtain.

_I’m here…_

It must have been a nightmare, then. It was impossible to forget the darkness. Even here where the sun did not set, the memories followed him across land and sea like a shadow. He shivered and pulled his wools close to his chest, though more for comfort than for warmth. He heard the pitter pattering of footsteps roaming around the grounds and knew that the rest of the estate was awake. He smelled strongly of straw, though he bathed often. He looked forward to those baths; they were the only consistent times he could see him. He had learned to ignore the stares and whispers. Let them think what they want, he thought. Nothing mattered, so as long as he was with him.

He wanted to return to sleep, as it was the easiest way to stave off the boredom. He had learned to keep himself hidden, else the eyes and whispers would return to him. He could not blame them, knowing how different he looked. He shut his eyes again. He had no gods to pray to, but he wished for pleasant dreams, if any.

Then, he heard a sound. His ears had grown sharp and trained, and like a dog, he sprung up with alert eyes and a straight posture. His footsteps alerted him of his presence before he even approached his pen, a shy but definite smile glowing on his face. _My moon and sun…_

“Good morning, Leon.”

He returned his smile. “Good morning, Emil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus we return to the Islands of Morstur. Emil and Leon are far from the drama and threats of the mainland, so they should be safe...right?
> 
> \--
> 
> In other news, I am in the middle of relocating, switching jobs, and studying, so I’m going to be taking a break until May. Personal matters aside, the next chapters need to be strung together very carefully, so I’d like to also take the time to edit them en masse for steady publishing. Until then, thank you so much for your patience and for reading!


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